


To Wish Impossible Things

by Lady_Firefly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, I really dug their northern campaign in s7, I'll try for more humor and less angst tho, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jon's butt makes a starring appearence, Modern Westeros, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, also bad at summaries, sansa being the boss she is, some humor too, there'd be some angst, this is jonsa being partners and fighting, which gets resolved after
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-28 13:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15050228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Firefly/pseuds/Lady_Firefly
Summary: Jon and Sansa are on a campaign to reclaim and restore the Winterfell and the Stark name to their previous glory. They are a team. They play surrogate parents to the remaining Stark kids together. Lean on each other. Fight with each other. Lust after each other. Hide feelings from each other... about each other.The usual.Or the way season 7 should have played out instead of diplomatic mission to Dragonstone or the Wight Hunt. According to me at least.Or I love Sophie Turner in white shirts so much... this started. A scene where Sansa returns home in the middle of the night in just a white shirt and her cousin/whatever Jon is insanely furious/jealous that it's neither her nor his shirt!... which is now in chapter 4 or 5, not sure. Now, let's see, where it ends.





	1. Cousin. Brother. Whatever.

 

 

 

_Five years. A lot can happen in that time. But even a lot could feel like a hell of a whole lot if one took the Starks into consideration. That was Jon’s first thought as the slender, tall redhead hobbled to the passenger side of his beaten, old jeep and scrambled on._

_“Hey. Thanks for coming- Could you please go? It’s not safe to dawdle around here any longer than I already have.”- were her first words._

_Her first words to Jon after almost five years. Last he had seen, she was fourteen and always wearing her ballet tutu or her cheerleading uniform everywhere throughout the day. Now she was in tattered skinny jeans and a knotted tee that left her midriff bare when it was below 20, here on this interstate halfway between Winterfell and Dreadfort. The cut on her cheekbone and the bruises on her arms and one side of her waist concluded her look._

_“Are you- Want me to go to an A &E first?” He put the jeep in motion._

_“No need. I already went… I couldn’t have dealt with it with someone- someone who knows me… from before. I called you from the social worker’s phone? Again, sorry about that. I just gave her your name. I had no idea she’d find out your information just like that from your name. I couldn’t think of anyone else! I mean… you know.”_

_Jon tried not to hear the world of pain in her voice toward the end. She spoke of dealing with ‘it’ and the social worker in an almost stoic way, only betraying her emotions when she almost mentioned the others._

_Jon’s grip tightened on the wheels as he cranked up the heater for her benefit. As much as he had been surprised by the call… he was also not so surprised. True, he didn’t even recognize Sansa’s voice. They were never that close or anything that he’d even remember how she sounded like. But, who else would she call?_

_For the thousandth time in the last couple of years, Jon cursed himself for being a drama queen, an emo-ass-bitch and not dealing with stuff in a mature way. Then maybe he could’ve been there for fathe-, for Ned, and for Robb, for Arya and the boys, maybe even for Sansa._

_But he had been a drama queen. Went and called uncle Benjen almost in tears the moment father- uncle Ned- told him he was not an adopted son, but an actual blood-related nephew. Screamed at Ned for not giving him the chance of interacting more with their alcoholic, feminist of an aunt who died when Jon had been about 9. Then his heart had broken further when he had read the truth in Ned’s eyes; it had been Lyanna who had refused to have more with him. Because she couldn’t cope with looking at him and facing his father’s rejection in his face, Benjen had later explained to Jon._

_Jon had enlisted with the Night’s Watch despite Ned begging him to take some time to think about his decision. He had trained harder than anyone he knew, just to prove… something. He had aced his marksmanship tests, was assigned his first post in Asshai before anyone in his batch. But then he had read it on the internet one night._

_Mayor of Winterfell, Eddard Stark, assassinated while on a visit in King’s Landing._

_It felt like watching dominos fall after that. And the first one to fall had been Jon._

_Two days after Ned’s killing, he stupidly missed all the obvious signs and stepped on a landmine. One of his mates had tried to save him by snatching him back by his backpack, but he hadn’t been fully successful. Shrapnel had pierced his whole body from the old, past-its-expiration-date bomb, the deadliest one catching him over his right eye, with a tiny one lodging right through his right brow bone._

_Jon had missed the man-he’d-always-consider-his-father’s funeral. His career as an expert marksman had been over as his eyesight was compromised even after the best treatments possible. And he had missed almost eight months by the time he was discharged out of the military hospital after battling temporary blindness and eyesight rehabilitation… and he didn’t recognize the world uncle Benjen and the internet painted for him._

_Robb, his-brother-and-best-friend-and-nothing-else-ever-Robb, and Catelyn had been assassinated in the Twins at a delegation mission. The boys had been put in the system, although Benjen assured him he was in the process of contesting that. The girls had been put up with their maternal aunt._

_Jon had been making plans with Benjen to go visit the girls when Benjen called him up one day to say Arya’d run off. Arya, Jon’s little sister. His baby sister, who he hadn’t even got to see after their father died._

_Jon was worried sick and focused on checking up with the police and authorities trying to locate Arya._

_Benjen went to see Sansa though. And what he relayed back to Jon chilled his blood. Sansa accused her aunt, the one she had been staying with, of neglect and abuse. Although her aunt had denied the allegations, Benjen believed Sansa as Sansa told him that’s why Arya escaped._

_Benjen and Jon had been talking to lawyers to get Sansa out of her aunt’s house when the aunt had called Benjen. Apparently, Sansa had run off with some northern fool. And not just any northern fool… Ramsey Bolton, whose father was actively pushing for a hostile takeover of the Stark Group, the management group that owned the Winterfell chain of hotels among other things._

_Jon hadn’t been able to bring himself to visit Sansa when Benjen had located the pair in White Harbor. What would he say to the girl he had at best just cohabited within the same house in the past? Sansa had refused to come away to the Vale and her aunt’s house again. A couple months later, Benjen had informed him she was married._

_Jon looked at her now. He didn’t know this person at all. And yet he felt the acute sense of pain and shame coming off even this virtual stranger. “Was this the first time?”_

_She just shook her head._

_“How long has he?-” His voice was gentle, but Jon was also demanding answers now._

_Sansa gave out a long sigh and looked at him with reluctant resignation. “He was always like this… just escalated, I guess.”_

_“Always-? Then why did you-?” Jon stopped himself short. He knew why. He guessed why the minute he heard she got married. To escape her aunt, like Arya did. But still, “Why didn’t you leave him sooner? Report him?”_

_This time her voice had strength, “People don’t believe it when I say someone’s hurting me.” Then her voice went quiet and small, “I would never have told anyone and put myself in that desperate please-someone-believe-me position ever again, except- His father is getting desperate for control of the Stark Group… he wants to merge Winterfell to his chain of hotels and capitalize on Mum and Dad’s years of hard work… I knew this from the beginning, of course… but I just wanted to come back home, and I thought there was no way they would attain majority with just my five percent.” That’s what Jon figured too._

_Ned’s will had been very publicly discussed in the months following his death. While he had left controlling shares of twenty percent to his heir Robb, he had left the remaining kids five percent each with trust funds they would only have access to when they turned twenty-one while also leaving Benjen and Jon ten percent each despite having bought out his siblings years ago for generous compensations when they had both requested him to. There was a brief justification to this bequest in the will, something along the lines of a pack surviving together and how Benjen and Jon will always be members of the pack no matter how much they considered themselves lone wolves that had brought tears to Jon’s eye thinking of the father he had so unfairly been angry at for so long._

_Jon was brought out another bout of self-rage that came close on the heels of thinking of Ned when Sansa continued. “But Roose started pressuring me to sing the motions he had drawn to have Robbie’s shares transferred to my name. He didn’t have a will in place-” Sansa choked and Jon carefully didn’t look at her. “He was twenty-three. No one should need a will at twenty-three!” She sniffled some more and silence ensued in the car while Jon looked straight ahead and bit hard on the inside of his cheek as he tried not to remember the boy with the ever-ready laughs.  Sansa's voice drifted to him as if from far away, “I had to refuse. I could barter my five percent for what I thought would be my freedom, but I couldn’t play around with Dad’s hard work, the Stark heritage and the boys and Arya’s birthright.      The Stark Group and the Winterfell brand belong to the Starks and I wouldn’t be the one squander it away to the Boltons… That’s when it became unbearable.” Sansa’s voice trembled as if in fear, “ I could take the pain of the beatings, I couldn’t take the shame of… other things. I was losing Sansa Stark to that feeling of shame every day. I had to save what little of her I’ve got left... She’s all I have left of them.”_

_Jon knew who she was talking about. He wished he had something left of them too, Robb’s smiles or Arya’s snorts or Bran’s smartass comments. He gulped, “I am so sorry I haven’t been there for you, Sansa. I know I am not family, but still, I should have been there and-”_

_“What are you talking about?” For the first time, Sansa looked fully at him and her eyes were only shrouded in confusion, not pain. “What do you mean ‘not family’?”_

_Jon sighed. Of course. “You don’t know? Don’t remember?… ‘Course, you were all so young. Dad- Uncle Ned- I am not- That is, aunt Lyanna-”_

_“She’s your mom. Sure I remember. You up and left so sensationally after, how can anyone forget? Robbie blasted hard rock that made the whole house tremble the whole summer and Mum and Dad had to go looking for Arya practically every day after she’d run away from the school bus.” Jon looked out the window and swallowed the curse._

_“That’s what I mean… not family.”_

_“Please don’t be dumb, Jon. Tonight’s not the night for it. If anything, that makes you more family than before. Adopted brother… cousin… all the same to me. You were a brother to me, after Robbie, Bran, and Ricky. You are still one… again after Robbie, Bran, and Ricky. Of course, I haven’t seen the boys in years now, and won’t see Robbie ever-” And the tears she had held back since gods knew when spilled over._

_Jon reached over and clutched one of her crumpled hands and she held on to his hand and sobbed on. After a good ten minutes or so, she sniffled and coughed and squeezed his hand and spoke again, “I miss him… but yes, you are family. Cousin… brother… whatever. Same thing.”_

Jon woke with a start as the car came to a halt. Lifting his head up, he looked outside the window to see the private cottage he had told Sam to book for him, and sighed. He couldn't be alone right now- the last argument he'd had with Sansa replaying itself in his mind. The issue itself was not a problem, though it was pertinent to the million dragons worth Winterfell hotel empire that Sansa had half-bullied, half-manipulated him into taking the reins of shortly after they had been reacquainted. The problem was the passion and the abandonment with which they fought… and what it did to her usually reserved countenance. Jon could feel himself spiraling more and more out of control with each disagreement and shouting match.

 

Of course he hadn’t always had this ‘problem’. It had been nice and pleasant between them the first few years they started living together in Winterfell. Jon sighed in resignation when he remembered how Sansa had metaphorically twisted his hand into living in their old home even then. He had helped with her divorce and fall out from it. She had helped him tread the waters when they started picking up the tabs on the Starks’ struggling hotel empire, completely abandoning the other political interests and investments they had. They had realized to both of their astonishment that they made an amazingly good team. In just a few short years, with the help of Jon’s friends, they had sorted out the smooth running of The Winterfell in Wintertown and were in talks of reopening the one in Bear Islands. Benjen had successfully obtained custody of the boys and Arya had written from Bravos to Jon.

 

Everything had been going as smooth as they could’ve… considering. That’s why Jon had suggested Sansa pursued a college degree, as he knew her parents would’ve surely wanted. It had taken some persuasion on Jon, the boys, Benjen, and yes, even on Arya’s part, but Sansa had relented. And then she had been so enthusiastic… seeking guidance from Sam, enrolling at Oldtown U, moving into her college apartment. She was acing and all. Jon visited her regularly, a few times with even the boys for company during Spring Breaks.

 

Jon sighed. He guessed he shouldn’t have visited her so frequently. He now knew better than to believe his own excuses of constructing the new branch of The Winterfell at Oldtown. He now knew the specific _reason_ he acquired that plot in Oldtown in the first place: an excuse to legitimately visit Sansa as much as he wanted. And it was during the last of his frequent visits that Jon had rudely been confronted with the real truth of his feelings towards his cousin… sister… _whatever_.

 

He had gone to pick up the Dornish takeout from the bistro across the town he had wanted for their dinner but came back with fish and chips from the chippy round the corner because he knew that’s what Sansa loved. When he had returned, he had used his set of keys- and he had since kicked himself mentally a thousand times for even having keys to her place- and had walked in. Sansa’s cell phone, which had been on the kitchen counter, had begun to ring. He had faintly heard a door open and then Sansa had come running into the kitchen, hastily wrapping a thin toweling robe around her wet and totally naked body as she did so.

 

As soon as she had seen him she had crimsoned with embarrassment, a floodtide of color scorching her tender, pale skin, filling her pale rosy nipples with hot color which had made them look...

 

Jon swallowed hard. There were some memories that haunted a man for all his life, some sins. He swallowed again. He doubted he would ever get over the sense of shock and self-disgust he had felt at the urge to take hold of her, to wrap her in his arms and devour the tight deliciousness of those thrusting, colour-flushed nipples with the hot suckle of his mouth, until she twisted and arched against him, returning the white heat of passion that was coursing through him, scorching him, torturing him, possessing him with the same overwhelming fury with which he wanted to possess her.

 

Of course, he had done no such thing. Of course he had forced himself to turn away whilst she turned and ran back into her room, and of course, neither of them had ever referred to that incident again. But from then on... since she had come back to Wintertown and took over the reins of their hotel empire with him almost four years ago, every time they butted heads- and they seemed to do that a _lot_ \- every time she looked hot and bothered by his stubbornness… Jon’s senses went _haywire_.

                                                                                                                               

Of course, he had come up with a coping mechanism. He had needed to or he would go mad... stark raving mad. He needed distraction... lots and lots of distraction.

  
  
And so, that was why, a little while later Jon found himself on the rocky shores beneath a beautiful waterfall, a little way away from the under-construction Winterfell in Bear Islands - surrounded by barely clothed women, bottles upon bottles of Dornish Red and music loud enough to lose himself in. 

  
  
And in turn, it is because of that, that he found himself lying in a highly inappropriate and scandalous position under one of the same barely clothed women, in his cottage the next morning- with a raging headache and hangover and no memory of the previous night to boot.

~~~

Sansa touched the mug of hot coffee to her forehead, the terrible board meetings giving her an awful headache. And it was not the issue of those meetings- Jon’s latest frolicking making their way to a few trashy online portals before Davos got to them- but the chauvinistic pleasure Glover and Manderly and Cerwyn seemed to take in rubbing Sansa’s nose in the uproar, the way they would never have done to Jon, all because he was the prodigal male heir who had saved them from going belly-up and returned their meager investments hundredfold and she was just the girl who had married wrong when she was a teenager.

 

It didn’t matter to any of them that it was Sansa, with the help of Sam and Tormund and Davos, who had been keeping their names from being tarnished. Their franchise was a family brand and perceived reputation mattered, so Sansa had always jumped into the fray at the slightest hint of disaster.  If pictures of Jon floated about with a redhead of questionable repute in Oldtown, shortly after the incident-that-must-not-be-recalled, then she would claim it's surely photoshopped! Jon was in a delicate emotional state like their whole family was, and he was reflecting right now, but he had just launched a new scholarship for the disadvantageous people of Wintertown! Why not focus on his philanthropy? If there were pictures of Arya bloody and battered, being thrown out of a nightclub in Bravos - Why, she was not in Bravos at all! She lived there of course, but right now? She was helping Jon broker a major business deal between a Dornish vineyard and their hotel franchise. Why focus on the false negatives? Couldn’t you see the new hospital wing the Stark Foundation had just donated to the Bravos General Hospital in dire need of one? A pre-natal ward, no less? Everybody loved babies, and so did Sansa. But, she wasn't over using emotional buttons of the masses and the media alike to save them. That's what Jon did for her a long time ago anyway, when she had gone through her grizzly divorce. She closed her eyes, blocking it off. Her role was that of a spin-doctor right now, and spin she will until nobody remembered Jon’s latest romps in the Bear Islands. 

 

She thought about the latest brawl in the boardroom she had faced regarding the northern ways, and the northern traditions, and the Stark ways- and she barely bit back the curse. Stark ways her foot. The blithering idiots had only agreed to back Sansa’s- their- rehabilitating efforts of the Winterfell franchise after Sansa had put most of the Hotels of their franchise up for sale to other franchises, only keeping the ones in Wintertown and White Harbor. Granted, the others had been in dire conditions due to the upheaval in management and neglect in maintenance as a result, but it had still hurt to see those Winterfell logos come down and High Garden or Martell signs going up. But they had scrunched up enough liquid assets and thrown in a couple rounds of hefty groveling to boot, and finally, the other shareholders had agreed to back Jon- not Sansa, mind it- as Chairman of the board and CEO of the group. It was only later when Robb’s shares had been divided between the remaining Stark children that she and Jon had been able to breathe easy in the knowledge of their uncontested majority. But now those bumbling fools–be it Manderly or Glover or Cerwyn- acted as if they’d shown some great vote of confidence in the Stark name and all of the Stark kids and the bearers of the name should, therefore, act to keep up the name at any cost. Glover had the _nerve_ to throw that blurry photo Sansa was sure one of their own construction workers had snatched up on a cheap cell phone in front of her-

 

 _Gods, that photo_. That blonde straddling Jon’s crotch… right there in the open in that rocky shore while other people were dancing about. And Jon’s head was leaning over her ample cleavage. In times like this, she really hated Jon, because he didn’t even allow her to suffer a broken heart in _peace_. Each of the past two nights, she had cried bitter tears of true devastation. She had gone to sleep crying, woken up and taken a panadol or two, used concealer and mascara to hide the puffy, red eyes and rolled with the onslaught of punches that the board had smugly hurled at her. Once or twice during the meetings, she had felt like calling up her aunt Lysa's second husband, Petry Baelish, who was always whispering wonderful things in her ears. She felt like asking him if he could actually fulfill his promises and make her the reigning queen of it _all_ … so she could cease with catering to the egos and idiocies of these damned fools on the board and the _biggest_ fool of them all with whom she sometimes foolishly considered herself in love with.

 

But then her fingers caught on the dragonfly necklace nestled between her breast and she knew why she’d never be able to blindside Jon like that. Jon had given her the pendant on her graduation day. Sansa had halfheartedly booked four seats, all the while expecting none of her siblings or Jon to be there. Jon had been in the middle of the most important business deal of his life that would change all of their lives later, the repurchasing of the Winterfell hotels in Dorne and Reach from the Martell and Tyrell Groups. Arya, Bran and Ricky all had their own things they had pre-informed her of. But then as Sansa had gone up to the stage to receive her distinction award, she had looked over and not only had those seats been filled, but there had been people standing up behind the seats- Sam, Gilly, Tormund, and Davos - all cheering for her. Sansa had known who had orchestrated that surprise even though the conspicuous absence and stilled, formal phone conversation during the past two years after _that summer episode_ between her and Jon had been enough to make her doubt him for a second. Jon had looked at her with fierce pride in his eyes. He had later taken them all to dinner, instructed her to not worry about who was looking after the repurchasing deals if all of their team was in Oldtown, and then pulled her aside when all of them had been in their cups and wordlessly put that necklace around her neck and a kiss on her forehead.

 

Sansa had known then. Known why she had missed him so terribly during his absence the past few years, why she sometimes cried after their stilted phone conversations, why nothing else mattered as much as him being there for her, why his lips on her forehead had felt like the most intimate contact she had ever known in her life.

 

Sansa shook her head as she didn’t even try to contain the sigh leaving her; to wish impossible things was to court self-inflicted misery. That way waited self-destruction and she had been forced to learn better than that. She knew why Jon had turned away so abruptly at the sight of her that day, she saw the scars gifted to her from Ramsey often enough in the mirror even without wanting to. She understood why he had kept his distance for her remaining years in college; she had glimpsed the disgust in his eyes before he had hidden it from her. Especially since then, Jon had been so open about the women he dated. Before that, she had almost thought him asexual or something. But since then, with that redhead Ros in Oldtown, it seemed as if he was making up for lost time.

 

So Sansa could stop her wishful thinking and focus on the facts. She would support her family, support Jon through his recurring momentary lapses in judgment… just like he had once cradled her in his lap through a whole night when she been a wreck after facing Ramsey and his father during her divorce deposition. That’s what Starks did. They survived… as a pack.

 

Her mind finally hushed, Sansa picked up her phone.

 

Jon picked up on the second ring. “Sans? How are you doing?”

 

It took her a few moments, but Sansa quieted the barrage of outrageous responses that single infuriating question brought forth. “It’s all contained.” The ice in her voice soothed her frayed nerves. “You’re needed here for the negotiations with Glover and Manderly regarding the extension permits on their area. They are less agreeable to me at the moment and won’t be calmed until you placate them in person.”

 

A beat followed and his warm voice came on, sounding sincere- but he was seldom otherwise. Jon had his flaws, but treachery wasn’t one of them. “I am sorry for what I put you through… Davos called. I had no idea it would blow up in front of the board like that.”

 

Sansa closed her eyes. He was always quick with apologies… where some wouldn’t even bother. He was a handsome, successful, unattached man in his early thirties. He was not doing anything he shouldn’t do. Yet… why was this always like _this_ between them lately?

 

“As I said, it’s been dealt with.” She forced her voice to remain aloof. Jon started saying something, but she hastened to finish the conversation. “Tormund will be there with the jet within the next hour. He will have the NDAs with him. Please make sure you have your… friends… sign them. You know the works. Tormund will remain there to put out any fires, business and otherwise. You can take the jet back home.” There, tied with a neat little bow.

 

Jon was silent for a longer beat this time. “As always, you have taken care of everything very efficiently and diplomatically.” Then why did he sound so _disappointed?_ “Thank you, Sansa. I will see you back home?”

 

“Mm-hmm. Bye.”

 

~~~

Sansa cut the call before Jon could even say goodbye. She was frustrated, he knew her well enough to be able to glean that much even from her frosty tones. He would be too, after the way the board had descended on her as per Davos’ accounts. _Chauvinistic pigs_. They had all but gifted the CEO position to him on a platter just because he had been a distant Stark male of the right age and had been willing to play ball, unlike Benjen whose life was in his service to the Night’s Watch. _But Sansa?_ She had earned her stripes… or at it was in the case of a she-wolf like her, her _fangs_. She had gotten the requisite degree in Economics, started working her way up from the bottom and only after she had put in the grueling hours, had she been grudgingly accepted into the position of CFO.  

 

Sure, Jon had led the Group into new territories and bolder projects before their time through his courage, but it was Sansa who always made sure he had the reserves to fall back on. She worked in ways Jon couldn’t even imagine needed working in. There was the time she had spent so many months courting, flattering Margaery Tyrell that even Jon had questioned the necessity behind her actions, but once Margaery Tyrell had held the second reception of her Royal Wedding in the Winterfell in Reach-no less in a beautifully designed winter wonderland theme that had been Sansa’s suggestion- requests and bookings started pouring in like rain for all of their establishments. They had experienced a tenfold increase in their event management revenues that year round. She was on top of everything that was going on in each one of their seven running establishments. Sansa knew just when to ensure impenetrable security, just when to invite a few of her friendly paps, when to indulge a certain special celebrity guest with a whole floor to party on/trash, and just when to deny a request with diplomatic politeness. She had grown up watching her parents and that acumen was inbuilt in her that none of those board members or even Jon could ever even hope to learn. It’s because of _her_ that Winterfell everywhere was the first choice of celebrities and whales. She earned the extra few stars on top of the five-star hotel chain her parents had left. But their board had yet to wake up and smell the coffee.

 

And now he had again added on to her worries and list of things to take care of, when all he _wanted_ was to- No, he would not think of that and he would go back and rein in the leash of the board, get them off her back and do his business as usual and not, under _any_ circumstances, would he butt head with her. He had had his distraction. He would be fine to deal with her presence for a while now. He reclined his head back on the desk chair inside his makeshift office on the construction site where he had practically been residing after his first night in Bear Islands and let the chants in his head pick up the volume as he let them remind him of how Sansa always viewed him and forever would… of the folly of wishing for impossible things.

 

_You are family, Jon. Cousin… brother… whatever. Same thing._

_Cousin… brother… whatever. Same thing._

 

_Cousin.  Brother. Whatever. Same thing._

 

_Cousin. Brother. Same thing._

 

 

* * *

 


	2. Good to be Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick look at surrogate parents JonSa... with more lusty confusions!

_Sansa neatly folded a dress shirt and put it inside his leather spin-wheeler that sat on the edge of the bed. Then she fell back on the middle of the bed with a huff and crossed her legs underneath with such an adorable expression that Jon had to turn away from her and pretend to check on the suit inside his suiter just not to let her see him laughing at her._

_“Don’t go!” It was probably the twentieth time she’d hurled that same sentence at him in the last hour only._

_He said nothing and folded a tie to place inside his luggage. The silence had calmed her outbursts to seething silences in the past hour. But it seemed his luck was out. Sansa suddenly picked up the tie he had just placed inside the luggage and threw it over his head towards the dresser. He heard it drop on the floor somewhere in between._

_“If I had known it would lead to you leaving the North to work on ventures in the South, I’d never have pressured you to take the helms of the business!” She grumbled._

_Jon sighed and pushed the half-packed luggage away from between them to sit in front her. He cupped her cheeks, the gesture so familiar now after they had been through so much in the past couple of years since reuniting. “Sweetling, we can never hope to restore the Winterfell or the Stark Group to its former glory hiding out in the North from the rest of the world. We need the deals. The influential mergers. I know it's a risk, and I also know I have to take it. We have to take it.”_

_Sansa grabbed onto his wrist, trapping his hand like she would hold him there until his flight left tomorrow morning. “Send Davos! You don’t have to go everywhere yourself!”_

_Jon licked his lower lip and bit down onto it for a second. He was not frustrated, he just found not giving Sansa what she wanted, not giving in to her wishes harder and harder each day. He braced her head with both hands as if she was a five-year-old. “Not every deal can be brokered through an ambassador. You know that. You taught me that. Oberyn Martell is not going to sign over exclusive rights to his prized Dornish Red to the Winterfell without negotiating each and every finer point of the deal with the CEO and you know that. If I send someone else, it’s as good as forfeiting the chance to the Lannisters... Do you think Tywin Lannister is sending a representative?”_

_Sansa knocked both his hands off with hard slaps and threw herself back onto his pillows. “I hate when you talk sense and not like a northern fool! I can forgive a northern fool.”_

_Jon huffed out a laugh and leaned on his elbow beside her. He gently smoothed her hair back from her cheek and continued when she didn’t knock his hand off again, “Promise me, you won’t spend all of your days in the office. Let Sam take on more responsibilities. He needs to build up his confidence. And finish up those college applications! You’ve dragged your feet enough!”_

_Sansa abruptly turned and hid her face in his chest. “Aren’t you even the least bit worried that you’d come back and we’d have run it all to the ground? The board will chew out Sam for breakfast!”_

_Jon grinned at her exaggerated whining. “I am not in the least bit worried.” He continued soothingly running his hand over her hair. “I am not leaving the company in Sam’s hands. I am leaving it in yours!” She really had the softest, silkiest hair. He could run his hand through it the whole day. At that thought, he caught himself and stilled his hands. Sansa’s head remained where it was though, so he might have gotten away without making things awkward for them both there. Jon cleared his throat and spoke more to himself, “You're my sister, you're the only Stark left in charge of the Winterfell. I’m sure you’ll take care of it even better than I ever could have.”_  


_When she spoke her voice was small against his chest. “I wish Arya agreed to come back home. Or the boys were on vacation. I haven’t been alone home since… I don’t remember. Oh Jon, won’t you come back super-duper quick, please?”_

_It was moments like this, just between the two of them, when she reminded him how very young she really was and what a sheltered life she had had before it had all exploded in all of their faces, that Jon felt that tug in his heartstrings and that feeling toward her… that he told himself he surely felt for Arya, Bran, and Rickon too. But yeah, at moments such as these, he’d do anything just to make Sansa happy… to make them all happy, he reminded himself sternly._

_To lighten the mood, he smiled at her. “I’d be back before you know it. And you’d be there to pick me up at the airport?”_  


_Sansa gave him that toothy smile of hers that he adored and that she was presenting him with more and more lately. “You bet I’ll be there, Jon Snow.  If you come back super-duper quickly, I will be there to pick you up from the airport every damn time!”_

The air hostess brought Jon out of his reverie when she offered him his natural ale and an intoxicating smile. Jon accepted just the drink with thanks.

 

His mind couldn’t stop going over the possibility of Sansa not being there to pick him up when he landed the closer the jet got to Wintertown Airport. It was not so much as someone being there to pick him up, as their ritual. It had never happened that he had gone away on business somewhere, and Sansa hadn’t been there to pick him up at the airport, except for her years in college or when she was away on business herself. If she was in town, she had been there. It was one of those _things_ between them. 

 

He shook his head, telling himself she would be totally in her rights to abandon him to his own devices, so to speak, or just send Edd to pick him up. But would she really? Jon gulped.

 

Climbing down from the jet, Jon was nervous. He couldn’t wait to get back home and at the same time wished he was anywhere but here. By the time he was out through the arrivals gate, Jon was mentally preparing himself to not see her standing there with her sweet smile like she always did.

 

He was half right. She was the first thing he saw the moment he looked across the concourse towards the car park, leaning against her SUV. In fact, she seemed like the one everyone on that concourse was looking at whether they were coming from or going somewhere. Her long red hair falling over one shoulder to her chest, the oversized white shirt tucked into the very tight black pencil skirt that had a slit up her right leg that reached upto her upper thighs. Her gorgeous leg was on full display for every damn fool in the area and the heavy wool coat casually draped over her shoulder didn’t shield the vision in any way. Jon scowled as he marched over to her, but as he neared he noticed she was wearing an equally frosty expression.

 

The moment he reached her, he engulfed her in a bear hug. He appreciated she was angry at him, but he also appreciated he hadn’t seen her in almost three days. She was still for a moment and then she turned her head and rested it on his shoulder and sighed as her arms encircled his waist. Jon instantly knew something else was up.

 

“What’s wrong?” She just rubbed her temple on his shoulder. “Sans? Hey, what’s up?” He jolted her and brought her up straight so he could look for the answers in her enthralling blue eyes.

 

She lowered her eyes, shrugged as if to say everything was fine and then, just like that, gave in. Because it was him, and because Sansa knew whatever happened, they were a team.

 

Her voice was shaky when she spoke and it was her distress that got to him before her words did. “Ricky- He has- him and a couple friends peed in front of their dean’s bungalow and they’ve got video footage of that… They’ll expel him surely this time!”

 

She looked like she had swallowed a bitter lemon by the end and Jon recited every foul swear word he knew in his head.

 

To say that Rickon has been a trial would be an understatement… even with Sansa reminding all of them with every breath of her that her ‘Ricky’ had had it the toughest of all of them with being the youngest, not even remembering their parents and being in the system for by a year longer than Bran before Benjen and they were finally able to extricate him. The boy seemed to chase trouble like the hounds of the hells were on his heels.

 

He had been caught smoking pot when he was just fifteen at that posh little boarding school Sansa had gods-knew-how gotten him into. She had used every resource she could lay her hands on to smooth out the storm.  She had stepped in with her cleverly disguised sweet words and sweeter smiles, the well-placed donations, the well-timed dinner parties, calling in favors- and she had saved the day.

 

Who knew what it would take this time. And the little rascal was in college no less. It was a testament to Sansa’s tenacity and dedication that he was even _in_ college, even in a shitty little one as Skagos U. But still… And now this! Not to mention, all this getting dumped on Sansa while Jon had been completely out of the picture, increasing the parameter of Sansa’s stress-zone, all because of something as superficial as a boyish crush he had on her.  She must be furious at him and he sure as hell was not going to lose her over something as idiotic and completely ridiculous as a crush. He had to manage it- himself- better.

 

Sansa had saved him from the abyss of hopelessness, had given a purpose to his life when he had felt himself starting to float away like a straw in a strong current after not only losing his career so unexpectedly but also the family he had never yet appreciated for the treasure that it was. And when he was lucky enough to get the opportunity, he had been there for her when she had battled her nastiest demons, both inner and worldly. That’s what they had always done… been there for each other. And together they had been there for the kids. They were all more or less grownups, but they still needed Jon and Sansa to step up every now and then. If his stupid little situation of overwhelming emotions surrounding Sansa was going to interfere with his role as a guardian, he just had to deal with it with a stricter restraint.

 

His mind made up, Jon sat straight and rigid in the back seat of the car as Podrick drove them over to the house. There had been nothing left of the house they had grown up in after a fire had demolished the abandoned settlement. Sansa had had this sprawling house made where earlier the ancestral Stark home had stood while she was still in college when their business had started picking up. She had added onto the house almost every year since then. Even this year, she was adding in a small greenhouse shed out back. Jon had fought with her on the constant construction around the house three or four times, they had both slammed a few doors, with the arguments ending with either him giving in or Sansa reassuring him that the latest add-ons were the last.

 

They weren’t. She always started planning the new additions just days after the latest one was done. Jon always gritted his teeth and went with it until he just couldn’t hold in his rants. He was secretly resigned to the idea that he’d be arguing on this issue with Sansa until one of them died of irritation or old age.

 

Jon quickly dumped his trolley bag and suiter in his room and was coming to find Sansa to ask whether he should order in dinner for them when he found her still in the kitchen yelling at her phone with an uncertain Podrick hovering behind her. Jon wordlessly nodded his thanks and waved Podrick off. Both men knew only one person could reduce infamously passive-aggressive Sansa Stark to scream like a mere mortal.

 

“-unfair! We at least had a normal childhood, heck normal teenage years I’d say… That means we were equipped, somewhat, to deal with all that happened! He wasn’t!... Well, he’s not you or I or Bran! You can’t expect everyone to have your divine level of toughness-”

 

Jon gently took the phone from Sansa before she physically hurt herself bending over the counter anymore in her agitation. “Wait a sec, Arya.” He looked at Sansa’s defiant eyes for a long beat, and she gave in first. It was another sign of how truly distressed she was. She bent her head and touched it lightly to his shoulder while her whole body stayed tensely away at an arm’s length. Jon lightly rested his right palm over the back of her head and spoke on the phone, “Go.”

 

Arya didn’t waste a breath. “The time for coddling was over when the pot incident happened, but- Anyway, I’m not pointing fingers any longer,” her tone clearly implied otherwise, “Sansa thinks she can swing the rustication to suspension and I think he should spend out his suspension in Bravos with me rather than an extravagant vacation that will be his stay with you guys.” Jon couldn’t argue on the last point knowing how Sansa bent over backward trying to smother Rickon with every little thing he missed out on and she thought he deserved every chance she got of doting on him.

 

“That might be best for him at this point.” He kept his voice carefully devoid of emotions and still felt Sansa stiffen. “What are your plans?”

 

“First I’ll kick the shit out of him-”

 

“ _Negative on that_.” Jon kept his tone as mild as he could. _Sansa_ would kick the shit out of both of them if anyone even laid a finger on Rickon.

 

“I know!” Arya lamented, “Look, I’ll try to talk to him, but you know we can’t do that with Sansa always trying to soothe him. I get that Rick has anger… complaints,” Arya’s voice sounded tight all of a sudden, “that not only Mom and Dad, even we abandoned him for years in the system… I was the worst! Dealing with my own issues far away here in the East. You guys at least tried to-” She caught herself before her voice could break. No, Arya won’t entertain vulnerability. Not even if it was Jon on the other side. So, he kept quiet until she gathered herself and spoke again. “Listen, I was all for Sansa’s good-cop-bad-cop method of explaining things to him. But he’s pulled this shit enough times now. It’s time for _bad-cop_ -bad-cop. If we don’t, we’ll be doing him more harm than good.”

 

Jon knew Arya was right. He clutched the nape of Sansa’s neck to get her to look at him and he saw in her eyes that she knew it too. In fact, she had always known it. It was just that Rickon knew he had her wrapped around his pinky fingers and he looked a little bit too much like Robb and since he had realized that, he had not been above using that fact with the older Starks and Jon. But Jon knew the moment Sansa’s good sense won out.

 

“Okay, yeah. I’ll talk to Tormund and he’ll pick Rickon up and drop him off with you. We’ll see how that goes.” Arya just grunted in response while Sansa moved away from him. Jon sighed. “How’s your shoulder now? Has the stiffness passed?” He listened to Arya’s answer as he watched Sansa get a drink from the sink. “Yep, cold presses helped me better too. Just listen to your physio for once and lay off the mat until it properly heals, yeah?” Arya said something incredibly rude which he was grateful Sansa didn’t hear. “How’s Gendry doing?... Yeah? What’s new?... One of these days, you’re gonna have to say yes, you rascal!... Mm-hmm, I know… It was nothing, Arya! Drop it!... Ok, go… We’ll talk more later. Take care.”

 

Jon was about to hand Sansa her phone back when it rang again. He just reflexively looked at the caller ID and then promptly snatched his hand back and answered the call.

 

“Sansa? What’re you doing about this mess?” Rickon sounded on the verge of tears.

 

Jon held up the index finger of his free hand in front of Sansa when she tried to swoop in and snatch away her phone. “Rickon? How are you doing?” Only shocked silence met him. Sansa worried her lower lip. “Listen, bud, Sansa can’t in all possibility bail you out each time, even though she _is_ this miracle worker who makes magic happen regularly.” More silence. “Ok. Sit tight. Tormund’ll be there tomorrow to escort you to Bravos-”

 

“No way, Jon! Arya’ll kill me for this!” Just like that Rickon found his voice.

 

Jon sighed resignedly. “Arya’ll not kill you… _if_ you don’t irritate her too much by not listening to her. I’m sure you guys will have a great time together. You seem to love adventures, don’t you?” More silence met him along with a death glare from the force in front of him. “It’ll be fine, Rick. We _do_ need to talk about this situation more tomorrow. But tonight, I think, we all need some rest. Go sleep. And try not to pee anywhere else you’re not supposed to in the meantime.”

 

Rickon mumbled a half-hearted goodbye and Jon handed Sansa’s phone back to her. “Just because I agree with what you guys decided, doesn’t mean you get to be an _ass_ to him!” she chewed the words out and stormed off towards her bedroom.

 

Jon followed hot on her heels but missed out by seconds and she slammed her door on his nose. It was not the first time either of them has slammed their doors on each other’s faces, but from her side, this only usually happened every twentieth day of the month - and he was cool with that. But at the thought of going through it again, he counted, in another two weeks, Jon shuddered. “Sans?” he banged on her door. “Come on! I just got back home!”

 

“After your _victorious excursion_ , you mean?” The muffled words didn’t hide the cold fury behind them.

 

Oh, yeah. His _excursion_ … Oh, well… “Don’t you want dinner, at least?”

 

Silence. “Hey, don’t go calling Rick or answering his calls, yeah?”

 

“Go away!” A drawer was slammed shut in her room.

 

“I see Rickon learned from you to disobey his elders.” He didn’t know why he was goading her; he just knew he felt happy to have the exclusive opportunity to do it.

 

“What?”

 

“I am asking you to come out and you’re disobeying me.” Something, probably a heeled pump, hit the door on the other side of where his face was.

 

Jon grinned and shrugged. He _tried_.

 

He went back to the kitchen and raided the fridge the housekeeping staff kept fully stocked and by the time he was sitting down on a kitchen stool with his reheated pea soup and chunk of coarse northern bread, textbook home food for him, he could hear the loud sounds of 4 Non Blondes asking what’s going on coming from the direction of Sansa’s room. This meant she was working on her pet project that she _thought_ Jon had no inkling about.

 

Jon tapped his feet in time to the music as finished his meal with relish.

 

It was good to be home.

 

~~~

 

The next morning at eight-thirty, Jon was sitting on the kitchen island working through his stack of pancakes and listening to their cook Nan, short for Nandalya, talk about how the greenhouse was coming along when Sansa emerged from her room, fully dressed, with a gloomy disposition.

 

Sansa was _not_ a morning person. Sure, she woke up early when she needed to, like today, but if she could swing it she wouldn’t be out of bed before ten and would have her first cup of tea in bed to boot. Whereas Jon had been up since five-thirty as usual and already had his hour-long training session with his trainer Rodrick even before Nan came along from the outhouse. Normally, he drew reassurance from their many differences to keep his longings checked, but today her low spirit made him want to go over and engulf her in a tight hug until she gave in and smiled or glared at him.

 

He stayed carefully quiet though, not even wishing Sansa a ‘good morning’ when Nan’s greeting was met with a dark ‘hmm’. Nan still persisted, offering pancakes. Sansa just passed her by with thanks and started putting things in a blender Jon was sure she wasn’t even aware of putting in it. He shifted his eyes before his stomach churned. And his eyes landed on Sansa’s ass in the tight black-checkered-white silk pencil skirt, perched on those incredible, long legs standing on at least four inches of satiny cream stilettos. It was such a pretty ass, almost heart shaped.

 

Suddenly his view was blocked by a powder blue wall and he hastily looked up into Nan’s narrowed eyed scrutiny. He quickly sipped from the cup Nan put down in front of him and coughed when the scalding hot liquid burned his mouth and throat alike going down. Sansa came by and handed him a napkin while she patted his back and groused absently, “Ricky called in the morning. He’s terrified. _Ask_ Arya to go easy on him.”

 

Jon coughed his airway clear. “I am fine, thank you.” Sansa just thumped him on the back harder. “Arya knows what to do with her little brother.” Then sensing Sansa’s unrest, he looked up and held her tired yet beautiful eyes, “Did you even _see_ the photos attached to the e-mail? They peed all over the Dean’s porch and front door! I didn’t even know three people could pee so much and with such- _direction!_ ”

 

Sansa flinched away from him in revulsion. “I did _not_ need that visual in my mind. _Thank you_ for that. See you at the office.” She hurried over to the blender full of yuck and tipped it all into the trash can and then picking up her large handbag, she was out the door without even a look at him.

~~~

 

The moment Jon stepped on the hallway leading to the executive cabins on the top floor of the Stark building just behind the Winterfell in Wintertown, his blood started boiling. There in front him, in his building, in front of his cabin, stood Petyr Fucking Baelish and it seemed like he had his hand on Sansa’s shoulder. Sansa’s _bare_ shoulder!

 

Jon’s shoulders rolled back without him even knowing it. How had he missed it during breakfast? It was her hair covered it, wasn’t it? The neckline of her suit jacket was such that the lapels framed her perfect, delicate shoulders elusively, leaving her prominent collarbone and shoulders  _[bare](http://the-lady-firefly.tumblr.com/post/175342846566/to-wish-impossible-things-ladyfirefly-a-song)_. Good thing, the neckline wasn’t that low cut; otherwise, he would’ve had blood on his hands today.

 

He must’ve growled or something because as soon as he reached them, both Sansa and Petyr abruptly turned towards him; her with mild irritation in her eyes and him with pure fear in his. Jon let the satisfaction of Petyr’s fear wash over him even as he didn’t break his stride and reached out to grab Petyr by his throat.

 

Before he could though, Sansa stood in front of Petyr like a shield and discretely shoved his outstretched arm away with her shoulder. She spoke in a voice that implied she was bored, but her eyes spat fire, “Oh, hey. I’m discussing something important with Petyr. Could you give us some privacy? Thanks.”

 

 Jon looked at her in shock. Firstly, he couldn’t even fathom why she kept this snake around in the first place despite her claiming some uncle bullshit when she didn’t even speak to that bloody aunt of hers anymore. Secondly, this snake had recently, very sneakily, bought out some shares and a seat on their board from the Karstarks and then he had been spotted meeting with Roose Bolton of all people in Wintertown. Hells, it was Sansa whose sources had first learned of the meeting. When she had informed Jon, his first reaction had been relief to think he had finally seen the last of this lecherous snake.

 

When he didn’t budge and only stood there glaring at him, Sansa hissed, Jon was amazed that she actually _hissed_ , “I am telling you for the last time, go now!”

 

Jon’s first instinct was to stand his ground. He was the authority here. He had full right to know what Baelish was doing here- he could be here on corporate espionage for all they knew- and he didn’t have to listen to anything Sansa said.

 

But then- his rational mind mumbled- Sansa would simply remove herself from his presence long enough to watch him go down in a tailspin. She could be petty that way… especially to him, to his supreme frustration. Jon breathed out furiously.

 

But turns out, he didn’t have to give them privacy. Petyr suddenly seemed in a hurry to see himself out. To Jon’s extreme displeasure, he leaned into Sansa, touched her bare shoulder _again_ and whispered into her ears for a considerable length of time. Then he finally straightened, nodded at Jon once, and scampered off towards the main reception area of the floor, only after promising to call Sansa later Jon grimly noted.

 

He was still looking at the snake’s back when he heard the door to Sansa’s cabin being slammed shut behind him. As far as he was concerned, that was more reason for him to charge in.

 

He didn’t bother with diplomacies “I don’t want that man anywhere near you-” _that came out wrong_ , “or anywhere in my building!” Behind him, Sam entered the cabin with a greeting to Sansa and a comment about some meeting.

 

“ _Your_ building?” Sansa finally replied and her voice dropped significantly in temperature. Jon was vaguely aware of Sam hastily beating a retreat and he felt a little insulted; even he didn’t instill that level of terror in anyone and he was supposed to be the top dog here. And delicately beautiful Miss Sansa Stark did that not only to the stoically impassive Sam but also to the devil-may-care-bear-fucker Tormund and to some extent to the poker-faced Davos?

 

“I meant, our headquarters… not _my_ anything.” Her eyes only narrowed further. His irritation spiked. Or his desire. He was confused between the two at that moment. “That man had just acquired shares and a seat to our board, something that no outsider had been able to do in the history of this industry since fathe- uncle Ned took the reins. You know it as well as I do, Karstark would never have parted with those shares under normal circumstances or without wrongful means of coercion. _And_ ,” his voice rose despite himself, “He met with Bolton last month, the man who had been after a seat on the board or better yet, after a hostile takeover like a hound since forever! Are you telling me you want that man in our headquarters when he most probably is just playing a spy for the Boltons-”

 

“Gods! Petyr was not spying today, ok? I called him to meet _me_! He was here today because I invited him to come.” Jon took an abrupt step back at her words. Sansa looked at his feet, sighed and went on, “Do you know that Rickon and his friends recorded themselves during- the vandalism- took selfies and posted them on their various accounts?”

 

Jon squinted at the abrupt change of subject. “You really didn’t watch the videos? I told you about them! They were self-recorded… the bloody fools! I-”

 

“The school is moving on from rustication to pressing charges, Jon! Someone from their academic council board only called me as a courtesy because of the equipment we donated to their science faculty last year. _Petyr_ knows most of the persons on the board, that’s how I got Rickon in in the first place. I _need_ his help.” She sounded outright desperate by the end.

 

Jon was at a loss what to say himself. Sansa’s insistence that she ‘needed’ Petyr rubbed him wrong ten ways to Sunday, but the fact that Rickon could face criminal charges precluded even his anger on seeing Petyr Baelish touch Sansa so familiarly.

 

He absently tried to say something to soothe her… _anything_ , “Listen, you can’t protect him from everything-”

 

“You think I don’t know that? Despite knowing, I _try_ … I try when its little things like Arya’s bar fights or your sexcapades-” Jon winced. Contrary to his previous beliefs, she did seem to have some _issues_ with his ‘sexcapades’. It was the second time she had hurled them to his face in an argument in the last twelve hours only. “I am not saying I will be able to shield him from everything, or even that I want to… You and Arya can do whatever you want with him- I have told him that just this morning also, ask him. But he is not getting incarcerated over this to set an example for others. I don’t care if you and Arya kill him to teach him about respect, obedience, and consequences… but I am not letting him get lost into the system for a second time. Petyr was saying Ricky won’t even be considered as a juvenile or anything…”

 

Jon hated seeing her this distressed, yet he didn’t know how to sort this mess out for her quickly. Maybe she was right- No, he wouldn’t think of it. He had to divert her mind and put his team on Rickon’s problem.

 

“Listen, let’s get through the meeting with Glover and Manderly. I will take care of this.” Then he just had to say something for the way she had shielded Petyr in the hallway. “But I can’t do it if you keep _undermining_ me in front of that snake! I will put Davos and Sam to work with our legal team for Rickon-”

 

“You’re doing the meeting on your own.” She barely looked at him as she opened the lid and powered up her laptop.

 

Now that annoyed him. She just kept on wanting to do things her way as if she knew everything and he knew nothing! “But that meeting is important if we want to get the blueprints sanctioned by the city hall in time. _You_ dragged me back here from Bear Islands for this meeting!”

 

“And you’re already missing the company from Bear Islands?” Her tone was icy and Jon cringed. His ‘sexcapade’ _really_ hadn’t gone unnoticed. “You will thrive without me in the meeting. Glover and Manderly will probably high-five you on your… excursions. As it is, they see me as a glorified secretary to you. They’ll be glad of the opportunity to do the dick measuring without my disapproving presence.”

 

Jon couldn’t believe that Sansa _Stark_ had just turned up her nose at him and uttered the word ‘dick’ in her icy tone, all the while maintaining her lady-like deportment. His irritation rising, he tried one last time, “Aye, that’s very well and good, but have you forgotten, you’re the CFO of the Stark Group? How am I to conduct the negotiations without the IRR and CB analyses?”

 

Sansa looked at him as if she was already done with this conversation. “I do not actually do the analyses while _sitting_   _down_ in the meetings… have never done so if you have kindly noticed… as they usually take _hours upon hours_ to be done. But the reports I prepare based on the analyses are concise enough to be read and comprehended by anyone on the executive team or the board. _Said_ reports have been in all of your emails since yesterday and hard copies are currently neatly stacked in the meeting dossiers in suite A for your kind perusal! My _job_ as the CFO is _not_ to hold your hand in every _meeting!_ ” Her voice rose and rose until she was whisper screaming at him. Then she looked down resolutely at her laptop screen, effectively dismissing him.

 

Jon stared at her in a daze before he backed out of her cabin and then halfheartedly went towards executive meeting suite A for his meeting, wanting to set Glover and Manderly straight about minimizing Sansa's role in their company. But he knew that would land him in Sansa’s bad books, rather than her good. She had preferred to handle those men on her own since the very beginning of when they had started their efforts of rebuilding their company.

 

Jon instructed Sam to look into the matter with Rickon as he called Glover and Manderly and Baelish every nasty name he could think of as he entered the meeting suite to try to make the old fools see sense and not drive the cost of their upcoming projects high in their areas by being difficult.

~~~

 

When Jon got home later that evening, Sansa was out on her run. He showered and waited for her in the family room with the TV turned on so she would know he was here. He was on his second bottle of ale when she joined him, her hair wet from her shower. As she sat down, Jon discreetly scooted away to the far side of the huge leather couch. He wordlessly offered her a peach cider from the small refrigerator in the corner and they drank quietly for some time.

 

“Sorry-”

 

“I’d like to apolo-”

 

Both of them stopped and looked at the other. Jon chuckled while Sansa’s mouth quirked.

 

She prodded the side of his thigh with the tips of her toes. “I was stressed about Ricky.” Jon nodded. He knew that. Rickon was now in Bravos with Arya and his Dean had agreed not to press charges while the rustication still stood. In the end, it had been Jon’s impassioned appeal on the phone about Rickon’s unique childhood traumas that had saved the day. But he believed Sansa already knew all of that although he hadn't spoken to her since their squabble in her cabin that morning. She knew everything there was to know about her wolf pups all the times.

 

Jon wrapped his left hand lightly around her foot and instantly wondered how her skin was always so silky soft. “He’d be ok. We’ll be there for him… Arya’s the best person for him right now though.”  
  
  
Sansa nodded understandingly and was silent for several moments before she spoke again in a small voice. “Forgive me? For not backing you up in front of Petyr?”

 

He shook his head, “What I don’t understand is why you insist on keeping him around while you won’t even let me offer a _job_ to Alys Karstark for what her dad did.”

 

Sansa pulled her foot away from under his hand. Jon wanted to beg for it back and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from doing so. But the next moment, she was scrambling across the couch on her knees and turning away from him, she lightly rested her back against his side, her head on his shoulder. “Mom used to say, never forget it when someone shows you their real face. We put our faith in Harald Karstark and he let us down… I don’t want to put our trust in a Karstark again. You can't _reward_ betrayal. And as for Petyr? Only a _fool_ would trust Petyr Baelish.”

 

Jon tried to absorb the meaning behind her words, it was difficult though… with the scent of her shampoo wafting to his nose. He lightly pushed the tips of his fingers through her hair and her hair clung to his fingers. At least her hair didn’t repel his cousin-brother-fingers it seemed.

 

Sansa’s hand lightly backslapped his chest, “Forgive me!”

 

Jon would later blame it on the bottles of ale he had consumed, but he quickly trapped that hand against his chest, “Ok, I forgive you... Do you forgive me?” When she remained quiet, he had to elaborate, “For this morning, for- for Bear Islands, for giving the board the chance to have a go at you?”

 

Sansa didn’t say anything for a while. At least three commercials passed on the TV before she slowly spoke, “I forgive you for behaving like a bull this morning. I know how you hate Petyr.”

 

She didn’t mention the _other_ thing and Jon didn’t have the courage to push _. What if she snatched her hand back and decided she wanted to sit far away from him?_ So he kept his quiet and played with the ends of her hair.

 

It was she who broke the silence again with her slow drawl, “I hope Arya bitch-slaps some sense into Rickon.”

 

His chest rumbled with a chuckle. “And I’d pay _good_ money to be there if and when it happened.”

 

She suddenly rounded up on her knees to face him, her face close to his, and looked at him pleadingly. “You’ll keep those two from killing each other? I don’t want another fight between Arya and I, so I _can’t_ intervene.”

 

It seemed like a completely brotherly thing at that moment, so Jon pulled her head down and kissed her lingeringly on the forehead. “I’ve got you. I’ll handle those two.”

 

His gaze dropped at her parted lips. They seemed to shine in the dim lighting of the room. He looked up and she was looking down at something instead of his eyes. She didn’t seem to notice him staring, so he stared some more. Her lips were the color of ripe raspberries and he wanted to touch them.

 

Sansa beat him to it. Her fingertips lightly brushed the corner of his mouth.

 

It was her touch that jolted him back to reality and he flinched back from her. _Did she catch him staring at her lips?_   _She had got to be trying to bring his attention back to her eyes, right?  Was she about to comment on it? Oh, gods!_

He chanced a look at her. She looked rather… _baffled_ _?_ “Sansa-”

 

“You need to trim your beard.” She cut him off quickly. “Did you forget, we’re hosting your tenth year as the CEO of the Group at the Winterfell tomorrow? You can’t show up there unkempt like this… I was just checking your beard for- um… bushiness!”

 

She hurriedly got to her feet and bid him a hasty goodnight on her jog towards her room.

 

Jon just sat there… confused. _So had she or hadn’t she caught him?_ She had sounded flustered, something she _never_ was. But if she _had_ caught him ogling her lips, wouldn’t she be _angry_ with him, rather than merely be flustered?

 

No. _Yes_. She didn't seem angry at all. Which probably meant his secret was safe… for tonight.

 

Jon sighed and rested his head back on the couch, waiting for his hardness to go down sufficiently, so he could go trim his beard like Sansa wanted him to.

 

It was fucking great to be home.

* * *

 


	3. Hindsight 20/20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn about Sansa's dreams and more of Jon's distractions. Yay!

Sansa knew it was a risk to wear _this_ dress to a high profile party, yet in some ways, she felt she owed it to herself. She had guarded this secret so close to her chest, not even letting Jon find out about it. And yet she had increasingly put so much of her heart and soul in it, that it seemed a miracle of sorts her secret wasn’t public knowledge by now.

 

But then the only person who could have just looked at an item of clothing and recognize Sansa’s signature all over it had been dead for over a decade now.

 

Sansa vaguely remembered the lazy summer afternoons still. Her mother’s hand guiding hers over swatches of fabrics, teaching her to learn the natural swish and swing of a particular type of fabrics to know which type of designs would suit it best. She remembered the first time Catelyn had shown her the basics of cutting a bodice out of a square of fabric, the first time she had let Sansa help fit the structure mannequin in her studio with pins and needles and taught her about the different waistlines and the ways to manipulate natural light.

 

Catelyn Tully Stark had always thought she’d someday be free enough from her beloved duties of a mother and a politician’s wife to be able to take the helms of her ancestral luxury couture house. Sansa’s grandfather, Hoster, and his brother Brynden didn’t have a single creative bone in their body. It seemed the artistic talents had skipped a whole generation in the Tully family. Catelyn had once slipped up and offhandedly commented in front of Sansa that Hoster Tully had only married Minisa Whent when the latter had dazzled them all with her artistic talents and was already well on her way up to becoming the head designer for their label. However, once again, neither Edmure nor Lysa Tully seemed to have any inclinations towards any kind of artistic pursuits whatsoever, and while Catelyn did _like_ designing, had assisted and learned from her mother since she was a young teen, her primary interests had laid more towards diplomatic endeavors like those of her husband’s.

 

It had been a pleasant surprise for both Catelyn and Sansa, therefore, when Sansa had taken to a needle in her hands as if it was a finger she had dearly missed.  In those quiet, serene, seemingly _magical_ summer afternoons during her teens, as Sansa’s talents had grown beyond both her and her mother’s imaginations, they had both started dreaming. By the time she was fifteen, Sansa had known. She wanted to be the second woman to become the head designer of Tully Ateliers. If Robb’s birthright was to take up helms of the Stark Group, Sansa’s birthright was to take Tully Ateliers to new heights as the grandmother she was named after did.

 

But then… dreams hadn’t seemed as important as survival when faced with reality. When Jon and she had started going door to door asking for support, her Tully looks had only seemed to alienate her to the Stark loyalists. She had had to go after that Economics degree, fallaciously thinking it might endear her a little to them. She had had to work tirelessly alongside Jon, only to prove that she cared more about her family name and heritage than being the person they accused her of being. _A girl with a Bolton surname and Tully looks._ The board barely allowed her to hold on by the skin of her teeth _after_ she had proved herself indispensable to the Stark Group’s rehabilitation efforts. But Sansa knew, any unseemly inclination towards other loyalties would have tipped the scales in her disfavor.

 

But that didn’t mean, she couldn’t have her secrets… her pet projects. She had started designing the odd little outfit while still in Oldtown U. It had been so thrilling to fill the sketchbooks with her designs and then getting to sign them with the scrawling SMS, _Sansa Minisa Stark_. A couple years back, she had even dared to reach out to her uncle Edmure about including some of her designs in some of the Tully Atelier collections. He had agreed of course. He had even been nice enough to send Sansa some of the finished pieces so that she could see her work with her own eyes. Uncle Edmure had always been more civilized, and more than a little remorseful, with his nieces and nephews than his remaining sister.

 

Lately, though, Edmure had been lamenting about the cost of upkeeping operations and how business wasn’t same in the absence of a really successful collection in years. The lack of a truly unique, signature collection in a long time had resulted in a serious lack of buzz about the label and even loyal patrons have moved on to the newer, more prolific labels. Sansa, for her part, could only contribute a few pieces in more than as many months with all of her obligations as the CFO of the Stark Group and that was not a solution to Edmure’s problems. She logically knew what she would’ve advised in this situation if her professional opinion was requested and Edmure did just that. He was considering selling the label altogether and was already in negotiations with High Garden Fashions. That label was soaring new heights of success with the abundance of ingenious talents in their current generation. And Sansa had to acknowledge, HGF was a great choice for the takeover of the Tully Ateliers.

 

But despite knowing, she had tried. She had done the cost-benefit analyses, had evaluated and then reevaluated her personal assets and investment portfolio… _anything_ to find a way to retain her mother’s legacy and both her mother and her dreams.

 

And every time she had come up short. Sure, they were affluent now. And sure, she could now afford to buy ten pieces off Margaery Tyrell’s newest collection. But that was _it_. She and Jon had made the conscious decision of reinvesting as much of their profit margin as they could to rehabilitation efforts, to build as much of a Stark legacy as they could for Arya, Bran and Rickon. Thus Sansa didn’t have access to as much liquid assets as she needed to make a counteroffer to Edmure, even when Edmure had agreed to sell at a _much_ lower price if it was Sansa buying, saying he was always going to give percentages to both his sisters, or in Catelyn’s case, her children. Even then, the numbers simply hadn’t added up. It _killed_ her to think of it, but she had been gradually trying to come to terms with letting go of her dreams… into letting herself believe that mother would have been ok with it. _Family, duty, honor_. There was _family_ : Arya, Bran, Rickon, and then her _duty_ towards her pack in which she had finally found _honor_. _Mother would understand_.

 

And because it was so final- Sansa knew there was no way she was ever going to come out as a designer or ever going to be associated with that world in any way in the future- that Sansa had, for the first time, dared to put on and exhibit one of her dresses in the world that was her reality, in front of the people she worked and lived with.

 

She had chosen carefully, the Tully blue of the silk sheath gown matching her eyes. The [gown ](http://the-lady-firefly.tumblr.com/post/175480485926/to-wish-impossible-things-ladyfirefly-a-song)was form fitting, yet it only kissed her curves, not clung to them. Her right shoulder and collarbone were totally bare and so was the portion teased by the large triangle cutout in the middle of her stomach. Her tits were just small enough that she thought, coupled with her practiced graceful movements, she could get away without flashing someone an underboob or worse yet, a nipple. And the slit that came down from high, _really high_ , up on her left thigh put her pins on show-stopping display, but that she was least worried about because she had always worn gowns with high slits. Well, not quite _this_ high, still she thought she had conditioned people enough into seeing her legs that no one would bat an eyelid at it.

 

Sansa realized the error in her judgment when the moment she stepped onto the high-ceilinged Weirwood Ballroom, conversation stopped for a full stunned second. She hadn’t quite counted on that.

 

Sansa quickly stepped to her side. Instead of venturing into the ballroom straight, she made her way around from the side. In a few minutes, she heard conversations restart with the usual buzz. _Damn_ , she thought, _was it too late to go back home and change now?_

 

She was turning towards the entrance when she caught sight of him. She wouldn’t have recognized him instantly if he hadn’t been wearing the Loras Tyrell midnight blue three-piece-suit with the black lapels that Sansa had herself chosen and sent up for him when Sam had informed her Jon would be unable to get home before the party like Sansa had done. Looking at him now, anybody who didn't know him would take him for a vain, highly maintained man. Sansa, however, knew the truth. He had worked for 12 hours straight at the office, had taken a quick shower there, and had pulled his hair back in that damned, sexy manbun more for functional purposes because he didn't have time to dry his damp hair than fashion. Jon being a through and through northern man, he had very little personal vanity. How Sansa wished he only had a little more… deference about the choice of women gracing his bed, but then who was she to judge him? If he played hard during his off times, Jon Snow was known to work even harder.

 

Sansa was brought out of her thoughts when she found herself face to face with one of their oldest clients, Theon Greyjoy. Greyjoy had been with them from the very start. He was a shipping heir, of the largest shipping corporation in Westeros, from one of the most influential of the Iron Islands. Their operations often brought him to the North, specifically the shores of White Harbor, and Greyjoy had always preferred the Winterfell for his lengthy stays and had also been gracious enough to recommend them suitably.  He inquired about the upcoming extensions and Sansa was all too happy to oblige him, always ready and intuitive enough to detect possibilities of future business. This was how she had seen her parents schmooze in the parties she had attended since her mid-teens and it had been ingrained in her business ethics as well. 

 

She was just getting to the good part with Theon about the possibility of expanding their franchise to the Iron Islands and the kind of clientele the Winterfell could expect there when Sansa was interrupted by her worst nightmares: Glover _and_ Manderly… already half-drunk although the party hasn’t even been going for a few hours yet. _Great_ , Sansa thought as she plastered her go-to pleased-but-fazed expression on her face. “Mr. Glover. Mr. Manderly.” Glover pinned her with his usual glower, “Ms. Stark.” Manderly, typically, didn’t bother with formalities, “Oh, pish-posh. I called her parents by their first name and I will do so with her! It’s not the boardroom for Gods’ sake. Sansa, dear, you look… very feminine.” He did a second thorough perusal of Sansa’s body, lingering on her bosom and the triangle cutout below her torso. “I must say, this is much more suitable than the way you insist on dressing while slogging away in the office!” Glover grunted his agreement and added his two-cents condescendingly, “See, I am as progressive as the next man, Ms. Stark, but sacrificing your femininity for hours doing work that can easily be done by a man- the Group can surely afford to appoint a suitable male CFO now even if we couldn’t before- See, I know how _testy_ you can get… but seeing as this is a social setting, let me give you a well-meaning advice, little girl, retire your business suits, find another husband and settle down. It’s surely what your parents would’ve wanted. If you want, Manderly here has a list of potential-”

 

“You wouldn’t be talking about me now, would you, Glover?” The cheerful voice inquired and Sansa briefly closed her eyes in exasperation. She had been meaning to ignore the drunks, but she couldn’t ignore the man they proclaimed the King beyond the Wall, one of their wealthiest and most influential patrons, and regrettably one of the most steadfast suitors Sansa had suffered in the last four years, Mance Rayder. She turned to Mance with a butter-won’t-melt smile and a blank expression, hoping the chauvinists would talk and entertain themselves while she’d just have to bestow her silent smiles. But despite herself, she shuddered when Mance whispered close in her ear, “You are looking especially delicious today, my dear little Sansa. You won’t be getting away with your ice queen routine tonight, darling, as that dress is… _fire!_ ”

 

Sansa barely managed to produce a perfunctory smile but was saved from manufacturing a veiled rebuke when a sudden wall of body pushed itself quite indiscreetly between Mance and her.

 

Sansa’s first ridiculous thought was… _did he have to smell so good?_ Lemonwood… with a hint of _him_. But then she guessed she was to blame for that little torture as Jon had stuck to that cologne after _she_ had gifted him with that bottle for his birthday a few years after they reunited. She had been in the Dorne to oversee the sale of the Winterfell there when she had come upon the bottle and the smell had instantly made her think of him.

 

His left hand hovered on the air over the small of her back, at least an inch separating them from touching, and spoke to Mance in all too pleasant voice that sounded alien on him. He was accepting everyone’s vote of thanks graciously, when Manderly again dragged the conversation back to unsavory subjects for Sansa, “Aye aye, young boy, you’ve done mighty good of commandeering the Group and the hotel chain back to success, but you know us northern men are family men too. We gotta take care of our families, first and foremost!” Glover gave a belching grunt in agreement, again. “See, you gotta take care of those sisters of yours… marry them of-”

 

“Cousin.” Jon’s sounded gruffer and more abrupt than usual.

 

“What?” Manderly squinted. “Oh, yeah, cousins. Whatever.”

 

“People _really_ need to stop saying ‘whatever’ when it almost always means the opposite.” Jon’s voice was curiously tight and Sansa tried to catch his eyes to see if anything was wrong. He evaded her successfully.

 

Manderly didn’t notice anything unusual though and continued. “As I was saying, you not only need to get your sis- cousins- settled, you need to think about doing so yourself. And you gotta convince lovely Sansa here to take a step back, relax and enjoy the fruit of your labors.” Sansa stared at him _hard_. She despised being talked about like she wasn’t even there and she _abhorred_ her won hard works being ignored in favor of her male counterpart.

 

Manderly coughed. “I mean _both_ of your labors. See, I admire her, I really do. She has curved a new frontier for herself and for others too… Take my Wylla for example… got herself engrossed with that little _barber shop_ of hers… spends all of her time in there, dyed her own hair that _shocking_ green.” Then he stopped himself short and suddenly gave his most conciliatory smile along with a wink to Jon, “But I do know this, my Wylla will make a damn fine wife to some northern man someday… maybe soon?”

 

Sansa couldn’t take it anymore. If she absolutely had to be there when Jon’s betrothal was being arranged and it was good for their business, she’d grin and bear it. But she couldn’t bear more of this condescending chauvinism. “Mr. Manderly, I must take this opportunity to congratulate you on the tremendous success of Wylla’s _salon_. I mean, I have been trying to book an appointment with her, and I have been told her book is filled up for the next two months and if I wanted something sooner I’d have to book with a junior assistant of hers. That’s…” Sansa just raised her hand and offered a silent salute. “And I must also take the opportunity to thank _all_ of you honorable northern family men.”

 

Jon’s hand stopped hovering and finally rested on the small of her back- singing her with its heat- in warning her because he must have sensed Sansa seething. “I thank Jon for so commendably handling the Stark Group for the last ten years. He is one of the main reasons I can do what I love to do and do it with confidence.” She finally looked at him and didn’t look away until he looked in her eyes so he would know she was at least sincere about _this bit_. Then she turned to the other men again. “And I am sure Wylla must be thankful to you and her late father too, for supporting her, giving her the platform to stand on. She and I are both lucky we can do what we want to without the added pressure of _having to do_ something to support our families… like most women who work have to do.” Manderly’s hand stopped mid-air on his way to take a sip of his ale. Glover, as usual, glowered some more at her. “Like I _had to_ do in the beginning to support Jon. Why, take our new office assistant Rhoda, for example, who’s working to support her family although it’s her time to attend college and enjoy her life.”

 

Glover’s face went ashen in a millisecond. That nineteen-year-old girl was also his mistress. Sansa made it her business to know these secrets. She had also, subtly, offered to help the girl find more work to better support her family and thus give up any other ‘jobs’ she didn’t like doing. Rhoda, however, had sweetly and politely turned Sansa down. Apparently, shouldering the burden of her family made her feel starved for affection at times.

 

Sansa let the tense silence linger for a second and then she smiled her own sweet smile, “So, you see, even if our presence in the work field might be vexing to some, our duties to our homes sometimes demanded we ventured out and earned our living. And those of us who are lucky enough to not feel compelled anymore, maybe we’d not be _as_ effective in the home front as we are on the work front? Like I have trained myself for the job I do now for the last ten years, and my cook has trained for her position since she was a girl. It just doesn’t make economic _sense_ to replace her labor with mine. You know, comparative effectiveness and all that? That’s the basic principle of trade and division of labor, as I am sure you guys know. Lastly, there are those of us who simply _prefer_ to do what we do regardless of need or sense. And the north still allows women to _have_ preferences, last I checked.”

 

Manderly looked at her with a slightly open mouth, Glover glowered at the glass he was holding, and Mance was looking at her like she was a tub of ice cream… or a big ass cake… or an amazingly beautiful ice cream cake he’d like to plant his face into.

 

Suddenly she was being steered away from the three men and Jon was mumbling something to them about doing the rounds and Sansa found herself in the midst of another set of men, Davos, Tormund and Sam this time. Sansa was just beginning to get her breathing under control and listening to Sam respond to her queries about the absence of his pregnant wife when suddenly a waiter with a tray of some kind of mini dessert stopped in front of her with determination. Sansa raised a subtle eyebrow at the waiter when Jon spoke gently, “Eat. The hungrier you’ll get, the crankier and less equipped you’ll be to deal with pigs like that.”

  
Sansa remembered she had had nothing to eat since a brief lunch of deli salad, but she _had_ to protest on principle. “ _Excuse me_ , I have been raised better than to ever be something as trivial as _cranky_.”

 

Jon’s mouth quirked and he looked her in the eye and held on the gaze for the first time that night. “True, _Lady_ Sansa. Now eat. I think you’ll like them.”

 

Sansa thought about her principles and protesting some more, but then looked at the tray and realized what they were. Principles didn’t seem as important anymore as she helped herself to one of the mini lemon cakes while she ordered the waiter to stay right there with a swish of her index finger. _A girl had to pick her battles_.

 

The cakes were _delightful_. When she finished her second one, Jon handed her a flute of Arbor Gold, knowing she had no time for the ale or the Dornish Strongwine like most of the people there. She washed the cake down and asked to no one in particular, “Wolkan kept my most favorite thing in the planet on the menu?” Wolkan was the general manager of the Winterfell, Wintertown, and he had a kind of love-hate relationship with Sansa-emphasis being on hate- as she was in charge of the purse that held the funds needed for his incessant renovation and advertisement plans for the hotel. “Is this an alternate reality no one told me about?”

 

All the men laughed, even Jon chuckled, and Davos answered as he sobered up first, “He thinks its Jon’s favorite as Jon makes sure to have the junior staff stock up on them before meetings and conferences in the office. Wolkan just sends them up from here and hasn’t yet figured out it might be for someone else’s benefit.”

 

After that comment, Sansa was actively trying not to look at him when Jon spoke to her in a low voice while the others were discussing this bar the four of them were always talking about opening someday. His tone was very casual as he gestured toward her dress, “You look ni- um… very glamorous. New dress?”

 

“Do you like it?” _What does it matter if he liked it?_ _Why_ would she ask him that? Where was her brain tonight?

 

To her credit, Jon seemed equally thrown by the question. He again looked down at her in the dress, bobbed his head this way and that and finally managed to sputter out, “Um… I like the design. Who’s the designer?”

 

Sansa frowned. _Did he know?_ Why would he ask about the design or the designer? When had he _ever_ cared about that? If she hadn’t dressed him, he would have turned up at the party in the same day suit he had worn to work today!

 

Sansa was searching for something to distract him with when they were interrupted by a strong female voice, “Hello, boys, Sansa. I already congratulated Jonny boy here once,” Anya Waynwood got straight to point, “so I’ll get straight to business. Are you two still together?”

  
Anya Waynwood was the quintessential social queen bee and matchmaker of Westeros. A social butterfly from the moment she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, she had continued to marry richer and richer and was the ultimate source of gossip around Westeros as her fortunes allowed her to fly from Bear Island to Bravos at a moment’s impulse without any thought or care. Sadly, that also meant she was the perfect client for a luxury chain of hotels as she usually traveled with a large group of companions and often booked most of the luxury suites all at once. Hence, instead of scowling at her question, Sansa drew up her go-to pleasantly blank expression to smile at her.

 

Anya was not one to be easily deterred though, “Oh, come dear girl. You and Jon… I suspect you’ve been… what’s the word for it? _Together?_ Well, we’re at a party and I better not be scandalous, but anyways… The whole tension speaks for itself. So, is it still going on? No one seems to know anything for sure.”

 

“No one? You’ve been asking _that_ around?” Sansa asked, quietly freaked.

 

“What tension?” Jon inquired at the same time, seeming to come alive for the first time that evening.

 

Anya’s scowl deepened at the noncompliance to her own inquiry and Davos had to quickly step in, “Um… Actually, they haven’t been together ‘together’… _yet_. Mrs. Waynwood.”

 

Jon and Sansa’s head swiveled in his direction in unison as if to ask ‘ _Yet?_ ’. Davos stopped whatever he had been about to add.

Tormund took it upon himself to add his opinions, “I suspect something of an on-again-off-again nature. But you can never be sure with these things, ya know? Plus them southerners are really stuffy about their itches.”

 

Jon and Sansa’s head swiveled in Tormund’s direction as they gaped at him. Anya was satisfied with the answers though, it seemed, as she hooked her arms through Sansa’s, “Oh, poor thing. You’re all alone then? Come along… I’ll introduce you to the most striking young man then. He’s just such a _delight_. You’ll thank me for _ages!_ ” Then she walked off towards the other end of the ballroom, fully expecting Sansa to follow her.

 

Davos gave her a reassuring grin, “You know old Anya. She’s a desperate romantic.”

  
“That’s probably why she’s got the country littered with ’em ex-husbands.” Tormund gleefully agreed.

 

Sansa just glared and shook her head at Tormund as she followed Anya in a daze.

~~~

Jon looked from afar as Anya Waynwood introduced Sansa to a golden-haired God of a man and turned away. First that dress… that dress with the cut out on her stomach and the slit that showed her magnificent legs in all their magical glory… add to that the fact that Jon just knew it was Sansa’s own design. The design was pretty similar to the other designs he had come across in Sansa's design book one day when she had fallen asleep with it in her hold in the living room and he was supposed to be away on business to another city but had returned sooner. He had wanted to tell her how stunning she looked, how incredibly talented she was, how they were all here today because of _her_ … or at least he was here because of her. And then those blasted pigs had started picking on her and Mance started ogling her. He had to give it to Sansa. Jon would’ve exploded long before. And finally, now he had to step back and look as some golden-haired prince put on the moves on her.

 

Jon decided he couldn’t take this damned party anymore. He advanced towards the bar and unexpectedly found a better diversion than ale. He didn’t beat around the bush as he sat on the empty barstool beside the voluptuous blonde and spoke quietly, “Still pining after you brother-in-law?” _Who’s too much in love with your deceased sister?_ – he could’ve added, but didn’t. He was too hungry to play with the food.

 

Val threw him a glare of pure animosity over her shoulder, the backless grey embellished gown making her look like a princess from a faraway land, “Haven’t you got the memo? He’s too enamored by _little Sansa_ to remember my sister _or_ me.” She took one look at Jon’s pinched mouth and laughed at him, “Still in love with your sister?”

 

“Cousin.” Jon bit out.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

They both downed their drinks and glared at the poor barman for several beats until Val put them all out their misery.

 

“Your place?” Val was the only distraction he ever took home with him. She co-parented her five-year-old nephew with Mance, hence she never wanted to fool around in the same hotel as the boy was staying. Jon had never bothered to get a bachelor pad in Wintertown, cos… well, the hotel worked just fine as his bachelor pad. Only he couldn’t use it in case of Val, so he took her home whenever they had to… amuse each other, for lack of a better term.

 

Jon shot Davos a quick text to look out for Sansa and make sure she was driven away by Podrick. Then he left the blasted party with Val.

 

~~~

 

When Sansa got back home, it was still very early, but after Davos had informed her Jon had taken off with Val- she should have seen it coming really, they were due for their semi-annual hookup anyway- she just couldn’t stay and schmooze with guests or potential clients. Plus Harry Hardyng, the apparent eligible bachelor Anya had unleashed on her _wouldn’t_ stop pestering her for a date. In the end Sansa had relented and barely extricated herself from the party in time before Anya could introduce her to yet more guys. She hadn’t even bid goodbye to Davos, Tormund or Sam, not wanting to attract attention to her leaving.

 

All Sansa wanted was a hot shower and sleep. The day had been too long and her tolerance level had been tapped out. Of course, she hadn't known what awaited her in her own home would look right in place in a Playboy Magazine's Penthouse section. Then again, _had she known,_ she wouldn't have gone home in the first place. But as always: Hindsight 20/20.

  
As she was crossing the hallway towards the bedrooms, she heard the TV on in the living room. She thought maybe Jon was too wired to sleep or something and went to check on him. What she stepped onto scandalized the _shit_ out of her. Cushions from the sofa lay scattered on the floor, as if they had been hastily swept out of their places. The centre table was definitely not placed in the centre anymore and the Vase that had been so beautifully arranged with fresh roses on it was lying on its side on the floor- the roses and the water gracing her expensive Meereenise rug. There was a trail of clothes from the middle of the room- and Sansa shuddered with barely repressed horror as she kicked a black thong away she didn’t realize she had stepped on - and it all ended on the large couch which was only yesterday occupied by Jon and Sansa. The loud sound blaring from the home system added to her already pounding headache and the sight that met her eyes nearly had her seeing red. Jon was kneeling between Val’s legs, as if supplicating to some goddess, his tongue licking Val’s bare cunt. His bare butt- oh my Gods, _that butt_ \- was facing Sansa as she gaped at the extreme assault to her retinas in front her. One of his hands, the one that was not inside her and on Val’s left breast, twisted her dusky nipple –and Val’s breasts were the most magnificent set Sansa had ever seen and she had only really seen her own, so that basically meant Val had ‘hugely’ better boobs than her in her own opinion- and the pinch made Val cry out and she started removing the arm that had been thrown over her eyes and Sansa, finally coming to her senses, fled… she ran as she had never run before and she went out of the house.

 

Once she was out, she realized, she had instructed Pod to just go home with her car keys as he would come back early morning on duty anyways. Sansa couldn’t leave with her car, yet she couldn’t go back inside to that- that- that hardcore sex show in there! Even if she just went into her own bedroom, they’d be just ten feet away from her and if there were noises- of _course_ , there’d be noises- _no!_ Sansa shuddered. There was only one place she could go and one person she could call- the one person who only belonged to her circle of friends and didn’t fall into that overlapping circle of people who knew _both_ Jon _and_ Sansa, which was basically everyone else she knew.

 

Sansa placed the call, apologized for the lateness of the hour and made her request. The person said they’d be there in fifteen minutes, so she waited.

 

And she thought… and replayed that scene in her head- compulsorily- on a loop. _He was eati- No!- pleasuring her there?_ _What the-?_

 

Sansa was no virgin, and even if she discounted her husband- because no woman should count that kind of an involvement in her _experience_ tally- she had had a few lovers. There had been Sam’s brother Dickon in college for a year and a half and that had been a fun romance with good enough sex… _until_ the incident-that-must-not-be-mentioned. Then the romance got dull and the sex got… well, _not_ good enough, because Sansa thought it a serious lack of moral fiber on her part to be fantasizing about another man while being with her boyfriend, especially if the other man was family.

 

Then there had been the fling with Willas Tyrell the weekend of his sister’s reception in the Winterfell. That was a fling… that had been flung as many times as it could be as far as Sansa was concerned.

 

But no one had ever done what Jon had been doing to Val! Sure she knew what it was. Sure, Dickon and she had even talked about it… but that was in _theory_. It was messy and had made Sansa feel vulnerable, overexposed and bothersome when she and Dickon had talked about venturing into it towards the end of their relationship as a last-ditch effort. Even then it had felt too intimate of an act to participate in with someone Sansa knew she soon wouldn’t have an intimate relationship with anymore. Following the same logic, Willas had been out of the question. And Ramsey… well, with him it had been out of the _curriculum_ altogether. But Jon was casually that intimate with his semi-annual hookup?!

 

Sansa was still pacing the front drive and going crazy with the thoughts when the headlights came in sight. She ran and was opening the passenger side door and getting in before the car had even properly stopped. When she was going away from her home, leaving the passionate couple behind to their romp, her face burned in shame when Sansa suddenly caught herself wishing she had gone inside her bedroom for a few essentials- namely her battery operated lover or at least the cute pink rubber finger- because as the sight in the living room kept replaying in her mind, Sansa seethed with rage at Jon’s insensitivity-did he even _think_ about the person who lived in the same house with him?… but she also burned with equal parts desire. A desire for release- _not Jon_ \- she firmly told herself.

_Because fuck Jon Snow._

* * *

 


	4. Take a Step Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for the response on the last update. Like, I don't need a thousand readers if I even got one person that got the story I put out and resonated with it like almost all of you did (special shoutouts to Skitenoir, israfel00, Jess, annarosym, and Castalya). I could keep writing this even if one person other than me stays connected to the story like this, because this is basically why I think people put their stories out here. For this honest connection to other similar minds through their stories.
> 
> So thank you very much. 
> 
> Also, your comments were also the reason this update was a bit late. I had to rewrite this chapter a lot and there was a smooch in this chapter that got bumped for later. Sowwieee.

* * *

 

Jon only had a slight headache instead of a full-blown hangover when he woke up in the morning. He started to get up and his eyes fell on the photo upon his nightstand. It was taken during a summer vacation about five years ago. He was carrying Arya piggyback and Sansa was sitting on the armrest of Bran’s wheelchair while Rickon was gleefully carrying her legs over on his shoulders as she held on so she didn’t fall over, they were all laughing at the camera.

 

Jon ran a hand down his face. That photo was why he got up from the bed and did what he did every day. Those smiles. That photo made him battle the early morning touches of melancholy, the occasional blues, the rare hangovers and the constant fears that that might be the day Sansa realized his disgusting secret and kicked him to the curb in revulsion.

 

Jon’s eyes homed in on Sansa’s bright smile and he quickly reached over to check his phone.

 

 _No texts from Sansa_. Well, usually that meant everything went down as it should have, or everything that went wrong had been taken care of accordingly. _All good._

 

On his way out for his morning workout, he paused for the briefest of seconds when he sprinted past Sansa’s bedroom. Quite expectedly, there was no sign of activity from the room yet and he didn’t expect any for at least three to four hours yet.

 

A couple of hours later, he was done with his run, his session with Rodrick, his shower and he was all ready to go and put in an honest day of work at the office. Jon was taken aback, however, when he almost bumped into Nan on the hallway by the bedrooms. She had a sole thermal mug in her hands and the most puzzled expression on her face.

 

“When did Sansa go to work?” Her tone indicated her level of astonishment.

 

“Work?!” Jon rolled his eyes at Nan, “Is she even up yet?”

 

Nan, in turn, gave him a stink eye and help up the thermos in her hands, “Well, if she’s sleeping still, it’s not in her own bed! I took her bed-tea in… her bed looks as made up as if it hasn’t even been slept in!”

 

Jon quickly stepped past Nan and took a quick look inside Sansa’s room. As Nan said, the exquisitely decorated large room was empty and fully tidied up except for a few pairs of stilettoes lying about in front of the armchair on one corner. Sansa was habitually very organized, but this room looked like no one had been in it in _hours_.

 

Jon shook his head and was tapping away at his phone as he filled Nan in, “Her car’s parked out front, haven’t you seen it? It’s not even _inside_ the garage! I thought Pod must have brought her in late last night and that’s why he didn’t park inside. But- Pod! Yeah, good morning. Listen, did you drop Sansa home last night-?”

 

Jon abruptly broke off and listened in silence to Podrick’s increasingly awake and alarmed voice explain. “You sure you brought her back?... No? Yes, I understand. Ok. Thanks… What? Oh, no, don’t hurry. It’s about your usual reporting time anyway… No, she’s not home, but it’s alright. I’ll check up on her and see where she’s at.”

 

As Jon cut the connection, a sudden sinking feeling gripped his insides. He again sidestepped a baffled Nan and charged towards the living room.

 

At the sight of the room, Jon stopped short. _No. No. No._ But, yes. Although there was no apparent evidence of his night of debauchery – like scattered clothing items or other discriminating objects – in the disheveled looking living room, Jon could see flashes of last night’s activities clearly in his mind. And with a rapidly solidifying surety in his gut, he knew what must’ve happened.

 

And then a cruel voice sniggered in his mind, _isn’t that what you hoped would happen?_

 

Jon knew with a scorching shame burning his throat that the answer was yes. After it had been plainly obvious that his ‘sexcapades’ had garnered plenty of Sansa’s attention, that was exactly what he’d been vying for when he had grabbed Val by the waist and brought her here in the living room.

 

 

He had just wanted things to come to a head, to stop being how they were lately. He _hated_ it every time someone called her his sister. The _same_ people who always played up the discord between Jon and Sansa in the boardroom because it served their purposes better to have Jon and Sansa at loggerheads in there.

 

And then he had watched that Blonde specimen of a man charming Sansa. And _then_ Val had grumbled in his ear how Mance was going to propose to Sansa, _again_ , hoping she’d say yes this time as her thirtieth birthday was fast approaching.

 

Jon had felt, for a blinding moment that he had to have Sansa’s eyes on _him_ , her mind on him, to get her to see him how he saw only _her_ or he wouldn’t be able to draw in his next _breath_. He had honestly felt like a fish out of water.

 

 _Fuck_ , Jon swore under his breath and Nan finally left him to go into the kitchen. He had let his moment of drunken panic completely compromise his good sense and if Sansa had indeed come home before Val and he had retired to his bedroom for a brief time before she left, then-

 

_FUCK!_

 

He had _wanted_ that, but at the same time, he hadn’t wanted _that_. Jon felt like biting his tongue off as he dialed Sansa’s number for the third time, not even sure what he was going to say to her. But that didn’t matter, because at that moment all he wanted was to hear her voice telling him she was ok.

 

Then another thought came. _Maybe she went back to the hotel?_ However, a quick, tactful call to the concierge of the Winterfell let him know that their penthouse suite was unoccupied. Jon’s brain stopped thinking.

 

He kind of went apeshit crazy on his phone… called Sansa up every few seconds only to be directed to her voicemail. With each second, his feeling of helpless panic grew.

 

He was a _stupid, moron, fucking_ \- He couldn’t even think up enough names to call himself as his brain wasn’t working past making endless calls to her.

  
  
He had paced, drank cups upon cups of coffee, tried to watch the local news station- and paced some more- all the while calling her, hoping every time she would pick the damn phone up, and using some very innovative and colorful swear words after every failed call. 

  
  
Eleven am found a very frustrated Jon sitting on the kitchen bar stool- his hair in total disarray from the many times he'd run his hands through it, still dressed in his now rumpled formal suit, eyes red, lips thin, and nose flared.

 

 _She could at least let him know by text_. It was not _like_ her to just disappear like this. She had to know he’d worry, even if she didn’t know the current tailspin he was in. He suddenly felt an odd kind of petulant resentment at her all the while hoping that she wasn't in any problem- wishing that she was just at some or the other friend's house... hoping that that _bloody dress of hers_ hadn't landed her in something she couldn't take. He called her again, his hand tightening around the cell as he was directed to her voicemail yet again. 

  
  
"Sansa? Sweetling?” he closed his eyes, trying to calm down, and started again, softer this time. "Can you call me as soon as you can, please? And come home. _Now,_ _please_. I'm waiting." He cut the call and swore again. His eyes sliding to the wall clock worriedly, noting that it had been more twelve hours since he'd last seen her now. 

  
When she walked in, he had been about to call Davos, Tormund, and then the local police chief to the boot. And she walked in, cool as you please, except Sansa was wearing a fucking _shirt_. A  _large_  shirt, and nothing _else_ that he could see. It was _not_ one of his- he _wished_ she was in his shirt, but it was _too big_ , damn it- and it was _not_ one of hers! It covered her to her upper thighs; she had secured it around her waist with a narrow blue silk tie and was holding that thrice-damned _dress_ in a transparent shopping bag in her hands. Her hair was bedraggled, some of the pins still stuck in. Her makeup had faded, lipstick was eaten away what looked like hours ago, leaving behind a hint of a ruby pink - or was it from being kissed? Her eyes were red too as if she hadn’t closed them for long last night- Jon suppressed a shudder.

 

  
"Sansa! Where-" he had just started when she walked right past him. He followed her, dumbfounded as she swayed into her room. She had _never_ behaved like this before! He had just started to enter her room, when she turned around and blocked him, "Jon, I am _very_ tired. I'll go to bed now. Not coming in today. Royce will manage. _You_ go in." One hand rubbing her eyes, she closed the door with a slam, leaving a very shocked Jon in her wake, muttering dire consequences to himself as he turned around and stamped into his own room.  


~~~

Sansa woke up around five pm and took an extra-long bath, trying to stay inside her room until she wasn’t absolutely starving. She hadn’t slept for very long last night on Brienne’s couch, despite the older woman friend trying to soothe Sansa with her logical pep talks.

 

Brienne had always been the one for logical pep talks. From that first time, she had approached her outside her divorce lawyer’s office when Jon had left her alone for a few minutes to catch a smoke. Apparently, Sansa’s mom had been one of her clients and the two had struck up a likely friendship that had lived on beyond Catelyn’s life. Brienne had offered Sansa what no one had yet, a _chance_ to be her own hero, to defend herself the next time someone came at her with their fists wagging.

 

Sansa had only attended Brienne’s self-defense class sporadically at first, more interested in hearing about her mother’s unknown side than learning to fight. It was later, when she had come back after graduation that Sansa had actually taken an interest in learning the proper techniques. College and independent living had taught her to appreciate Brienne in a new light. Her mother’s friend had gradually become her closest confidant.

 

However, for some reason, she guarded Brienne like a treasured secret. Maybe it was because she never wanted her tough siblings or Jon to find out how she was trying to toughen up like them too. If they never knew she was trying, they’d never know if/when she failed.

 

As such, only Podrick knew her secret. He had rushed to Brienne’s studio first thing that morning and then had called over to Brienne’s house from the studio’s reception desk to track Sansa down. Sansa had been quite apologetic to worry the poor lad like that.

 

One person, however, she was _glad_ to have made sweat… and he was also the one she wasn’t ready to face yet.

 

Sansa hoped Jon was out at the office when she tiptoed towards the kitchen but knew at once he was home when she heard his muffled voice talking on his phone coming from his room. _Damn_.

 

Sansa sprinted by his room and went into the thankfully empty kitchen. She quickly rummaged through the fridge and found snacks and fresh produce, but nothing substantial that would satisfy her gnawing hunger. She felt personally betrayed by Nan. _Today was the day she had to decide to not make or bake at least a few items in the kitchen?_ Sansa grumblingly took out a packet of washed salad greens and had transferred them to a big, wooden salad bowl when she heard footsteps entering the kitchen.

 

Sansa didn’t turn around… she didn’t have to. She threw the empty packet in the bin and turned towards him with the bowl held up in front of her defensively.

 

He spoke first. “Are you feeling ok?”

 

Sansa looked away and debated for a long while whether or not to answer. Then she just shrugged noncommittally, her lips pursed.

 

Even from her one fleeting glance at him, she had seen all she didn’t _want_ to see. He was looking at her with pleading, wounded eyes. _He_ was wounded? Well, it wasn’t Sansa’s concern if Val was too rough with him last night!

 

Sansa shook her head violently to shake off his image from her mind and started for the archway leading out of the kitchen.

 

“Sansa, please!!”

 

She didn’t stop immediately because he asked. No, she stopped, because it was a cry of distress. But she controlled herself from looking at him. _She_ was the wronged party here.

 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched him punching the air desperately and heard him utter a soft swear. Then he seemed to be doing some breathing exercise and finally, he moved. He got a plate and cutleries from cupboards and then went towards a big pot on the counter beside the espresso machine that Sansa hadn’t even noticed before in her absent-minded state. As soon as he lifted the lid of the pot, Sansa’s stomach moaned. The aroma of heavenly, herby beef pot roast filled the whole kitchen and she watched morosely as Jon filled his plate. Then she hastily averted her eyes as he turned and came directly to her.

 

Jon held the plate out to her tentatively. “Nan cooked for you, but none of us wanted to eat it without you. She went out to restock the pantry but instructed me to make sure you ate once you woke up. Eat… _please_. For her.” Jon nudged her hand with the delicious looking plate. Then he slowly reached out and took hold of the pitiful looking salad bowl clutched in her hands. He tugged slowly and Sansa held on, still looking down. Jon stepped closer, and she immediately let go of the bowl and hurriedly went and sat down by the kitchen island.

 

Jon silently followed and put the plate down in front of her and some of Sansa’s resentment from the night before made a vengeful comeback. “What, you afraid I am going to turn into a monster again just cos I’m hungry? Is that the new rule of thumb you’ve come up with?”

 

Jon leaned down and for the first time since last night, their eyes really met. Sansa wasn’t ready for it. But she couldn’t even look away. Jon stepped closer, although he seemed unaware of doing so.

 

“Sorry?” While he did he have a lot to apologize for, that word only seemed to express his confusion.

 

Sansa glared at him. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t imply I was being a hangry bitch to Manderly and Glover last night?”

 

His eyes suddenly glowed as if a spark was lit in him. “I did not! Do _not_ accuse me of wrongdoings you made up in your mind, Sansa! I am capable of incriminating myself _plenty_ without it. I have never referred to you so derogatively- not even in my _mind_ \- nor would I condone someone doing so!”

 

Sansa was more hurt by his claim than angry. Why, he talked like someone who adored her, and yet-

 

She shook her head. “Yes, that’s why you dragged me away from them and offered me a platter of lemon cakes as if I was a moody _child_.”

 

“You weren’t a moody child even when you _were_ a child!” He exclaimed instantly. Then he paused before talking in a low voice, “Manderly and Glover deserved that talking down and more… They have deserved so for years. And the only reason they haven’t received it and worse is you. You have bodily restrained me from knocking Glover’s teeth down his throat more than a few times. You have given me at least a hundred lectures on why I couldn’t attack, why I couldn’t give them what they wanted, why they targeted you and sometimes aimed at me through you. _You’ve twisted Rickon’s ear for snarling at Manderly_. You’ve dealt with those two and twenty more like them with your brand of cool for the last ten years… and the only reason you didn’t last night because they were grating on your already frayed nerves. That’s why I dragged you away with excuses of food… because that’s what you’ve done for me for years! Only you’re so good at it, you’d have dragged me away way before I could even say anything. I thought I was doing what we always do… being a team. That’s why I dragged you away- not because they didn’t deserve a kick in their groin or because I thought you were lashing out due to hunger.”

 

~~~

 

_Sansa was having a nice time despite what she thought before. Her divorce deposition would start from next week and she had also secured a meeting with Howland Reed for Jon and her for the next day. Things were in motion. Everything will be good from now on. She kept telling herself these mantras. Keeping herself in a positive mind frame was one of the primary pieces of advice from her therapist._

_She was giggling with Jeyne when someone slid onto the stool behind her. She looked over her shoulder- annoyed, thinking it was yet another bar perv- and her eyes widened. “What? What are_ you _doing here?”_

_Jon shrugged while his mouth twitched in what Sansa had lately come to know as his smile. “I was done with Davos and Sam early and this is on the way home. I thought I’d swing by and see if you wanted to go back home early? And if not, I could use a drink or two,_ if _you don’t mind me tagging along?” Home was the tiny apartment they were renting in Wintertown. Her parents’ house was burnt down and neither of them could afford to rebuild it… yet._

_Sansa’s eyes widened briefly, before she felt warmth suffuse her and she smiled. Living with Jon was so easy. He was so accommodating, non-fussy, and sometimes- times like this- he reminded her quiet necessarily that Sansa wasn’t alone in this world. That she had family- not the toxic version of that word her soon-to-be-ex-husband blackmailed her with- but family like she used to have and hoped to have again._

_She said nothing and turned around to Jeyne while lightly resting her back on Jon’s torso, telling herself family could lean on each other without thinking about how that would look to others. She introduced Jeyne and Jon and soon they were talking about Robb and high school and college and Wintertown and what not._

_They were debating whether to have some ribs from the bar or move their party to the pizza place next door when Sansa heard the voice that had the power to render her paralyzed with fear._

_“Sansa, dear… how I’ve missed you, darling.” His tone was cultured, smooth and had the distinct note of sounding absolutely_ false _which Sansa now wondered how she ever missed before._

_Jon didn’t know Ramsey, hadn’t met him before. But from the shift in Sansa and Jeyne’s demeanor, he could easily guess who Ramsey was._

_Sansa knew all of them were waiting for her to say something, but try as she might, she couldn’t. That was the_ Ramsey Effect _for her._

_Ramsey’s eyes glinted as well when he noticed he still had the desired effect on her. “I have missed you, darling… in our home… in our bed… under me.” His smile could be construed as teasingly naughty if it didn’t look so sinister._

_Jon’s hands rubbing her arms melted the ice in her veins. “Come on, let’s go then. We were getting something to eat?” He spoke directly in her ear, but his voice carried in the silence that had fallen around them._

_“Jon, right? I can’t say I have had the pleasure of meeting any of my wife’s family… not entirely my fault too as so many of them are_ so _dead now.” Ramsey sounded positively gleeful. “Beat some sense into your sister. A man can only be expected to forgive so much disobedience from his wife, you know? I’ve been so patient.”_

_Jon stood up and put himself between her and Ramsey in a casual manner while he said softly to Ramsey, “Come on, man. This is not the place for it. You’re making everyone uncomfortable.”_

_She heard Ramsey. “I just want my wife back in my bed, man. I feel kind of an owner’s pride, you know? It took a lot out of my skills to teach such an inexperienced virgin the pleasures of pain. It’s not like she was always the most compliant student.” Ramsey hissed out his words. “Beware, darling wife, the longer you make me wait, the harsher punishment you’re going to carve out for yourself.” The threat now came through naked behind his words._

_Finally, Sansa did something she had been unable to do until then. She stood up and looked at Ramsey above Jon’s shoulder. “If anyone deserves punishment for whatever happened during our marriage, it’s you and you know it. I got my own share of penance for every wrong I did before and after you happened to me and I bear the signs of it on my body, so you can’t deny it. But_ your _punishment is yet to come. Wait for it, Ramsey Bolton. I’ll see you in the depositions.”_

_Sansa held her head carefully high as she headed to the pizza place next door, leaving Jon and Jeyne to follow her. They sat down and both Jon and Jeyne started talking at once as if nothing ever happened. Jeyne complimented Jon on his ability to maintain calm and Jon teased Sansa lightly about how she had even scared the shit out of him back in the bar. Towards the end of their meal though Jon suddenly slapped his pockets and exclaimed his phone was missing. It was nowhere around them in the pizza place and after telling the girls to stay put, he hurriedly ran back to the bar to look for his phone._

_He came back a good twenty or so minutes later. Sansa and Jeyne were understandably worried. He silently ushered them out of the pizza place and bundled them all up in that beat up jeep of his. He didn’t speak much as he dropped Jeyne home before doing the same for them both._

_The next day while they were at the meeting with Mr. Reed, the police came to take Jon away. Apparently, he had gone back to the bar and beaten Ramsey up to a bloody pulp in the alley behind. Ramsey’s father apparently filed a report against Jon that morning._

_At Davos’ advice, Jon outright denied the charge. There were no witnesses or security cams in the alley. So it was Jon’s word against Ramsey’s. The whole mess seeped into Sansa’s divorce depositions. Although the evidence against Ramsey was damning, for a while the whole process became him hurling absurd accusations at Jon and Sansa. In the end, the divorce came through while Sansa got a restraining order against Ramsey and Ramsey got a restraining order against Jon._

_The night her divorce was final, Sansa and Jon celebrated with sweet wine. Mid-inebriation, she launched into yet another lecture on how Jon was not to attack anyone else in her defense anymore. She forbade it._

_“You can’t always protect me, Jon!” Her words were slurred. “No one can protect anyone really!”_

_Jon squinted. “I can_ try _!”_

_“Don’t be stupid. That’s exactly the kind of thinking that got Dad and Robb- Anyways, you can’t always think about how you can protect others. You have to be smarter than that.”_

_“Aye,” Jon took a long swig of beer. “And how can I be smarter? Don’t say it, lemme guess… By listening to little Miss Sansa Stark?”_

_Sansa smiled pleasantly at his use of_ Miss _and_ Stark _, and nodded, “Exactly.”_

_Jon smirked. “Really? I thought_ you _were going to attack that mad dog that night before I even got a chance to go at him.”_

_Sansa sighed rather dramatically. “Momma said it’s the red hair. I’d be susceptible to the occasional outburst, just like her.” Then she narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s it. We’ll tag team this one too. You pull me back and I do the same for you. So next time you hear Glover lamenting how Mom was too southern or I am too Bolton, or Manderly waxing poetic about how I am too girl for business, or Mormont going on about how you_ singlehandedly _saved us all, you drag me away, yeah?”_

_Sansa stood up and swayed on her feet. Jon gently folded her in his arms. “Ok, next time you hear those bastards saying any of that bullshit or Ramsey’s near you, you pull me back and distract me.”_

_Sansa made an agreeing grunt as Jon ran his fingers through her hair. “How do I distract you?”_

_“Hmm?” Jon sounded too distracted and never answered._

 

~~~

 

Sansa took a gasping breath. She didn’t want Jon tripping her up with some drunken conversation they had way back when. She silently started eating, intending to ignore Jon completely.

 

He spoke again when she had finished. “You want more?”

 

Sansa gulped down some water. “If I want more, I’ll get it.”

 

Jon sighed loudly. “I ordered a new couch for the living room.”

 

What a _way_ to address the elephant in the room. Sansa stood up and took her plate to the sink.

 

“I didn’t realize we needed another couch in that room.” She kept her tone hard and cool.

 

He sighed again. This time he sounded frustrated by her evading tactics. “Not a new one! To replace the old- Sansa, I am so sorry about that. _So sorry_ , but you have to-”

 

“ _I_ don’t have to _anything_!” She spun around and only after she heard her own voice did she realize she was shouting.

 

Jon studied her face as if he was fascinated. He quickly stepped close to her. “I can see that you’re upset.” Honestly, he seemed riveted by her face and by the fact that she was upset suddenly.

 

Sansa just couldn’t stand it and she needed space, so she shoved him back a couple steps. “I am not! Why should I be?”

 

Jon squinted as if trying hard to concentrate, “You saw Val and me- like _that_ \- last night. You must have some feelings?”

 

“Oh, I _must_?” Sansa growled. “ _Why?_ Why _must_ I have all the feelings, while you can go around fucking whoever you want, wherever you want? Why must _you_ not care how that makes _me_ feel?”

 

 _Shit_. Sansa cringed inwardly. But this was not the time for self-recrimination. These things had a 5-second rule. Your cousin caught you naked and your nipples turned hard under his stare, you turn your back within 5-seconds and never talk about it again and things turn back to normal. You got caught checking out your cousin’s ass when he got back from his morning workout, you just immediately give all your attention to your cereal and things turn back to normal. You got lost staring at his lips after he kissed your forehead, you just say goodnight and leave and things turn back to normal.

 

Or _whatever_ normal was.

 

Today, however, before she could stage an exit, Jon closed in on her, “You _do_ care!”

 

She instinctively reacted to his accusing tone, “What?... I mean, sure I do. It’s _my_ house, _my_ couch!”

 

Jon almost stepped on her toes as he leaned ever closer to peer into her eyes, “I am sorry about that, sweetling. _I am a stupid asshole_. I just wanted you to see me-”

 

Sansa just _couldn’t_ anymore as the scene from last night replayed in her mind vividly at his words. She turned away from him towards the sink and whisper-screamed, “I _did_ see you… _and_ Val! It was so much I had to rinse my eyes out with tears the whole night, you bastard!”

 

They both seemed to be simultaneously robbed of speech after that disclosure. He spoke several silent seconds later, “Sansa, honey, _please,_ look at me?”

 

“No!” _What a preposterous idea!_

 

Jon pleaded desperately, “Sansa, please, this is… do you…? I don’t-”

 

“Jon! Oh, Sansa! Have you eaten dearie?” Nan sounded as cheerful as always.

 

Jon swore colorfully. Nan continued in a huff, “There is a huge delivery van outside? Apparently, you ordered a couch? How come I know nothing about any renovations?”

 

Sansa could feel Jon’s hesitation about what to do. She suddenly felt like a prey and prayed that Jon would back off. Jon listened to her prayers unknowingly. But before retreating, he warned her in a whisper, “We’re not done here, Sansa. We need to finish this conversation.”

 

As soon as Jon left the kitchen, Sansa let go of the breath she had been holding in loudly.

 

What the _fuck_ just happened? Why did she feel like she had just revealed something _monumental_ here? And why did Jon _press_ the matter like that? What was _his_ problem? Did he-? _No!_ He couldn’t possibly…

 

_I wanted you to see me…_

 

Sansa blinked. What fresh hell was this? She had been so busy hiding her unrequited love- correction, _lust_ \- did she perhaps miss the fact that it was _requited_? _Was that the word?_ She had barely hidden her own unrequited thingy, what if Jon had his own unrequited thingy too? Although, in that case, probably the two negatives would cancel each other out and it would just be called _mutual?_

 

 _Fuck!_ Sansa gasped aloud. She had been so busy lamenting the fact that Jon was repulsed by the sight of her body and that was the thing standing between them, that she completely blocked the crucial-most fact from her mind. He was her _cousin_! They shared a company, a home, an Arya, a Bran and a Rickon! She _barely_ managed to put out the fires they both set alight through their frictions, how would she _ever_ extinguish the wildfire that might come to blaze due to a potential ‘something’ between them?! _Why did she never think about that?_

~~~

When Jon came back inside with the delivery people, predictably Sansa was gone. He had anticipated that move, but he was still hurt by her absence.

 

The whole time he directed and then helped the guys with where he wanted the new couch and moving the old one out, his mind raced. She _cried_ last night? _He made her cry?_ What a _heel_ he was! But why would she _cry_? She must have been angry, annoyed, exasperated, _mad_ \- yes. But why would she _cry_ after watching him with Val?

 

More to the point, where _was_ she? What was she doing in her room for so long? Didn’t she hear this commotion? Was she _avoiding_ him?

 

Jon vowed to go knock on her door once the delivery men left. But as soon as he decided that, Sansa reappeared.

 

Jon was stunned for a moment by the look of her and forgot to ask her where she was going. She had on a silk and lace black dress with her new favorite over-the-knee boots and her makeup was light and her hair looked less sleek and perfect than it always did. But she looked more gorgeously beautiful to Jon than ever… maybe because he couldn’t remember her looking straight into his eyes and holding onto his gaze like that in _years_.

 

“You going out?” He sounded unusually breathless, but he couldn’t help it. He was suddenly apprehensive to say anything, afraid of rocking the boat while simultaneously wondering _when_ they got on the boat at all. “I thought- I hoped- we could hang out and talk about things.”

 

Sansa bit her lower lip while her eyes searched his face. In the end, she looked down for a moment before saying, “I’ve got this date with Harry… from last night. I’m meeting him at the restaurant.”

 

Jon instantly _knew_. He knew whatever they’d been talking about before _wasn’t_ meaningless _or_ random. He knew because he knew Sansa. He had learned to know her like he had learned to know Arya, Bran, and Rickon better through the years.

 

Arya was like him. When faced with a new dare, an impossible scenario, an emotional challenge, they planted their feet, dredged up all the emotional resilience in their arsenal and prepared to fight for what they thought what was right.

 

Sansa was the exact opposite. No, she didn’t escape or quit. But she never planted her feet at the first sign of a challenge; she was too quick-witted for that. She never even responded to dares. She planned, she organized, and sometimes, not _every_ time, but sometimes she stepped back from a situation before coming back to it with her decision made. He had watched her do it during her divorce proceedings, when she decided they had to take back the Group, and before she accepted the CFO position he had offered. Hell, she finally got herself enrolled and actually moved away to college the first time he offered to prepare herself instead of accepting right away, so, there was that.

 

Jon could literally see her taking a step back right now too. She had that look that told him she thought she had bitten off more than she could chew. And Jon also knew from experience he had to let her walk away. If he chased or tried to pull her back, she would run off feeling like a caged animal. Jon sighed at the realization.

 

 “Can I help you with that?” He gestured to the red leather overcoat Sansa had draped over the back of a barstool.

 

She shrugged and Jon moved over to pick up the coat and helped her with it. Her movements were jerky as she gave off an awkward laugh. “You probably don’t want to spend the evening goofing off with your _cousin_ anyways.”

 

He heard the emphasis on the word and carefully suppressed the flinch he felt coming on. “I love goofing off with you, Sans.”

 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t.” Jon’s hand froze on her shoulders. She waited for a moment for him to say something; Jon carefully didn’t as his voice might have betrayed his distress. “You see, all this familiarity, maybe it’s clouding our judgments, making us think we feel something when maybe we don’t, making us behave like we shouldn’t, making us lash out at each other?”  


Jon stepped back and heavily dropped down when he felt the barstool at his back.

 

Sansa continued after a beat. “Maybe we should step back from the situation? Maybe that would be better for everyone involved?”

 

She turned back to face Jon and he gestured for her to continue. She was _clearly_ on a roll. “You’re already one of the most important persons in my life, Jon… in _all_ of our lives. Maybe _that_ should be enough. I am not ready to gamble with that on a whim.”

 

Jon looked at her panicked, frightened expression and knew he’d do anything she asked for. He slowly raised a hand to cup her cheek, to reassure her. “Whatever you want, Sans.”

 

He didn’t pull his hand away afterward and Sansa didn’t look away. For the first time, Jon didn’t try to control what his eyes would reveal… and it seemed she didn’t too. It was as if they were suddenly transported back to that evening four years ago in Oldtown. She might as well have been naked now for the way he could read the play of emotions on her face. Mostly she seemed fascinated by what she read on his face. So when she spoke, her tone held wonderment, “You weren’t disgusted!”

 

Jon didn’t know how but he _knew_ what she was talking about. “Only with myself.”

 

He let go of her and stood up to walk away from her.

 

“But, Jon wait-”

 

“I can hear Pod talking to Nan. You should get going. You don’t want to keep your date waiting.”

 

Jon left the kitchen before he heard the clicking of her heels indicate her exit.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Do please let me know, what 'lasting flavor' it leaves in your mouth? ;)


End file.
